The Vampire and The Newsie
by LoriEchelon
Summary: Eric is a NYC businessman in the 1900s. When he attacks newsie Skittery one night to feed off of, his emotions get the best of him, and he ends up turning him into one of his own instead of killing him. Eric, Skittery, and Spot are the main characters.
1. Selling Late

The young man walked the streets of New York City, making snide comments to himself about how the entire city was headed to hell. He'd come to America a long time ago, drifting from one city to the other whenever it seemed someone was on to him. As much as he hated New York, at least in a city this big he could settle down for awhile, work on building up his ever-growing empire.

A newsboy dressed in a pink long john shirt with thin grey pants held up by a pair of threadbare suspenders yelled out a head line from across the street. He was dressed entirely wrong for the cold nip in the air, as the city waited for winter to make its way into spring, which it was taking it's sweet time doing this year.

Idly, Eric wondered what the newsboy was doing out selling so late, seeing as darkness had already fallen over the city. Shaking his head at himself, he took a few long strides over to the boy, who looked to be in his late teens or early twenties, holding out a nickel, and taking a paper in exchange. He shook his head when the boy started digging in his pocket, motioning that the boy should keep the change.

He wasn't sure what had caused him to do that, as he folded up the newspaper and stuck it under his arm, quickly hurrying back across the street in the direction he'd been headed originally. He wasn't exactly what someone would call a warm, nice, caring person. To be completely honest, he wasn't even a person.

Opening up the door to an office building, Eric took off his gloves, which were only for show anyway. He didn't feel the cold anymore, and he hadn't been able to for many a year. But it was all about keeping up appearances, and it wouldn't do for such a wealthy, prominent man to walk around Manhattan looking like he couldn't afford a pair of gloves.

He took the hat off his head also, as he absently nodded to the desk boy, who was also there for appearances. _Well, appearances and lunch, _Eric laughed cruelly to himself, licking his lips at he remembered the sweet, coppery taste of the boys blood.

"Eric," A frosty female voice interrupted his thoughts, as a tall blonde female walked in his office, shutting the door behind her.

"Anyone ever teach you how to knock, Pam?" He asked, an edge to his already bitter voice, unhappy at the interruption and the way Pam tended to walk around like she owned the place.

She ignored his comment, throwing an exact replica of the same paper he'd just bought onto his desk. "Maybe you should worry less about my knocking abilities and a little more about how to cover your tracks better."

Eric heaved an annoyed sigh at her, picking the paper up off his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he tossed his legs up on the desk, as he unfolded it, to see what had her in such a snit.

* * *

Skittery called out a thank you to the blonde haired man who'd let him keep the change, as he slowly counted the papers left in his hands. Normally he managed to sell enough of the morning edition of the paper that he wasn't forced to sell the evening one as well, but he was trying to save up money and had been selling late the past few weeks, catching businessmen on their way home. He'd grown sick of living hand to mouth, and was trying to stash himself away a nice little nest egg, so if anything came up he wouldn't be out on the streets.

He watched the man jog across the street, and couldn't help wondering why a businessman was going into the office so late, as opposed to leaving and going home to his family like all the others.

Shrugging, and noting that it wasn't really important anyway, he turned around calling out the headline. "Mad Man Running Loose at Nights! Another Body Found Drained A Blood!"

Listening to himself, and noticing how late it was starting to get, Skittery shivered slightly, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but out on the cold, black streets of New York by himself. He started to make his way back to the Duane Street Newsboys Lodging House, selling all but one of his papers before he made it there.

Relieved to be home, he laughed nervously at himself for his sudden fear, shaking his head. He'd been out on the streets at night by himself since he was eight, and nothing had ever happened to him, so he was unsure as to why he'd managed to scare himself earlier. Wrenching open the door, he walked in to a chorus of greeting from the other newsboys, and Kloppman waving him over to pay up and sign in.

He greeted the kindly older man, who tended to act more like the boys grandfather than anything most days. Skittery knew for a fact that he secretly hated taking the boys money every night, and would let them all live there for free if he could.

Pulling the nickel he'd just gotten out of his pants, along with a penny, he handed them over, scribbling his name in the book, and shoving it back across the desk. He flicked his suspenders off of his shoulders as he wandered back to the common room, joining in the game of cards already in full swing, promising himself he'd just play one hand and then he'd go up to bed.

**AN - Okay, not a lot happening yet, but it **_**is**_** only the first chapter. I'm trying something new here, that I haven't seen done before really, and also trying my first crossover. Please review if you read this and liked it at all, so I know if I should continue it. (Although chances are I'll continue it anyway!) I'm not sure how it's going to end up going, and am a little nervous about it, but I think it could be really fun! And I can't guarantee on the quickness of updates to this story, since I'm also working on Everything Comes With A Price, and try to update that one daily. But I'm typically good about updating. Anyway, like it, hate it, let me know! Reviews make me (and every other author on FF) happy, happy, happy! Also, if anyone is wondering as to why this under True Blood and Newsies, as opposed to Southern Vampire Mysteries and Newsies, it's mainly because Eric's hair will be short like in the show, and I may stick with some of the other things that differed between the show and the books, like Godric being Erics maker, as opposed to Godfrey. (I think it was Godfrey in the book, sorry if that's wrong, it's been ages since I read that one!)**


	2. The Secrets of Cities and Men

Eric straightened his jacket and tie, fixing his hair smugly in the mirror on the wall, as he called the dismal excuse for a human that was his office boy into him.

"Yes sir?" The boy, Chris, or Connor, or something that began with a 'C', asked, walking in, looking hopeful.

"Pam says I can't risk hunting tonight," Eric explained in a bored tone, as his fangs slowly extended. Before the boy could blink, Eric, who moments ago had been on the other side of the room, was next to him, sinking his teeth into his neck, and sucking greedily.

The young boy, whose name was actually Cameron, winced at first, eventually relaxing as the vampire's venom trickled into his system, replacing his previous anxiety with a calm, serene feeling.

Eric inwardly rolled his eyes at the sheer display of eagerness to please, as he licked the wound closed, and dismissed the boy with an impatient wave of his hand. He hadn't wanted to stop and he muttered curses under his breath at Pam, wondering if she needed a reminder as to who was in charge around here.

With a click of heels against the hard floor, Pam appeared back at the front door, with a man by her side. Eric glared at the intrusion, flicking his eyes up and down the human with disinterest. He was a beady little man, smiling nervously, and fixing his bowtie.

Eric immediately decided he hated the man, just by the ugliness of the bowtie, but invited him in anyways.

"This is reporter Bryan Denton from the New York Sun," Pam explained to him. "He's here to interview you about the company." Pam turned around, exiting the way she had come, but not before whispering so softly that Bryan's mortal senses couldn't pick up on it. "Do not make him your dinner, he will be noticed missing."

Eric couldn't help but grin at this, as he thought to himself that he would never consider drinking from this man in the first place. The scent tickling his nose from the human was not an appetizing one.

Knowing when he had to put on an act, though, was one of Eric's specialties, as he offered a hand out to the human. "Eric Northman," he introduced himself, gripping the poor man's hand a little bit harder than absolutely necessary.

Denton winced inwardly, but refused to show discomfort on the outside, as he lowered himself into the seat that Eric gestured at.

"I, um," Denton cleared his throat nervously, starting over. "I was hoping to secure an interview with you about your sudden rise in the business world of Manhattan. You seem to have come out of nowhere, and no one knows anything about you, but you've made quite a name for yourself here in a very short time."

Eric slowly nodded an agreement. "What paper did you say this was for again?"

"The New York Sun," Denton replied, shifting in his seat. Something about the tall, powerful blonde across from him made him extremely uncomfortable and he felt not unlike a canary in the mouth of a cat.

Eric scoffed, making a face at his answer. "The Sun? That sad little paper? Won't do much for my reputation to be featured there, now will it?" Actually, Eric could not have cared less what paper he was in. He was just enjoying toying with the man sitting across from him, who was attempting to stutter a reason as to why the Sun on the rise.

Eric held up a hand, effectively silencing him. "Fine. I'll do it. But I don't have all night. You have thirty minutes."

"Well, um, okay, thank you, sir," Denton pulled a pen out of his coat pocket, and opened a pad of paper, looking up and instantly regretting making eye contact with Eric. "Well, um, first off…"

Eric tuned out to the annoying mans blabbering, answering whatever questions were asked of him in short, clipped sentences. He was barely paying attention to the questions being asked and the answers he was giving as he stared listlessly out the window of his office, contemplating how many days he should let pass before he fed out on the streets again.

He used the office boy only as a last resort. The thrill of the hunt was actually his favorite part of being a vampire. Eric relished in the delight of killing creatures so obviously below him. _In a perfect world all these lowly humans would be serving all of us vampires and begging us to make them one us, _Eric thought, growing more and more bored by Denton as he watched the second hand slowly tick on the clock on the wall.

* * *

Skittery was true to himself, as he played one quick hand with the other newsboys before dragging himself upstairs. He was never entirely at ease being in a room full of other people, and he knew what the other boys thought about him anyway.

All over the lodging house there were hushed whispers about Skittery and where he came from. A background filled with secrets and lies, hatred and abuse, drugs and death. A past much darker and scarier than anything any of the other boys knew. Most seemed afraid of him, though he'd never given them reason to be so.

Skittery had never bothered to confirm nor deny the gossip that swept through the Manhattan newsies about him. He never felt that his life story was anyone's business, and no one had bothered to come right out and ask him, anyway.

He preferred a solitary existence and ignored the others as they tended to ignore him. More often than not Skittery could be found deep in the shadows of New York City, in places most people turned their heads from and pretended weren't really present in their wonderful, perfect town.

But if one were to make their ways past the vendor selling on the streets, and the children happily playing games, past the bars and restaurants, and factories, and down the side streets to the abandoned warehouses, boarded up and forgotten about, one would find the city's ugliest secrets and most dangerous places. One would find the opium dens, filled with random street trash, and orphans, or even family men with dirty secrets to hide, and that was where Skittery took his solace.

Most nights after the others had fallen into a deep sleep, Skittery would rise from his bed, silently getting dressed and stealing out into the night. Sitting in a dark, decaying basement with a handful of people he didn't know and didn't care to, Skittery would suck on the pipe like his life depended on it, and some nights he was convinced it did. He would inhale the sickly sweet, heavy white smoke deep into his lungs, enjoying the feeling of tranquility and blissful ignorance that rushed deep through him with each exhale.

**AN – Yes, I am aware that the chapters are rather short, and I promise they will get longer as I get deeper into the story. **


	3. Unwanted Emotions

Eric didn't exactly breathe a sigh of relief when the insufferable reporter finally left, but that was only due to the fact that he wasn't exactly alive and breathing in the first place. He stalked out of his office, searching Pam out and finding her in her own office. He slammed the door behind him, turning on her.

"Do not bring anyone else back to my office without proper warning, Pam," he warned in a tone that left no room for argument.

"The daytime employees said he's stopped by every day for a week looking for you and was beginning to find it odd that the man in charge was never actually here. So I sought him out and informed him you had dinner plans, but would be here later. The last thing we need right now is a nosy reporter sniffing around and finding out what we really are, Eric. All he asked for was a simple interview, and it didn't kill you."

"That's because I'm already dead. This is my business, Pam. Never make the mistake of forgetting that, or forgetting that I made you what you are ever again. In the future you will run things by me first," He turned on his heel, exiting without waiting for a response.

Eric felt a sudden urge to get out of the building and he yanked the front door open, walking out onto the mostly deserted streets of Manhattan. Aimlessly, he walked the streets, turning in disgust from the homeless people who seemed to be the only other ones out this time of night.

He spotted a vaguely familiar figure darting from the shadows and into an alleyway in front of him, and followed it, letting his curiosity get the best of him.

With his superb sense of sight he was taken aback to recognize the newsboy he'd bought a paper from a few hours ago. Eric couldn't help wondering what a newsboy was doing out in the middle of the night climbing through a broken window and into an abandoned building.

Noiselessly, Eric followed the boy crouching down and peering into the darkened room. He saw a few, sad candles lit, and he could smell the desperation and misery that hung thick in the air. He followed the scent of the boy, and spotted him huddled in a corner, shivering so slightly that human eyes would have never managed to pick up on it.

With distaste thick in his mouth he realized he was peering in on a bunch of wretched druggies, sucking down the smoke from a pipe, chasing after a high that would only keep them happy for a short while. Eric shook his head at the sight, and stood slowly, stretching to his full, impressive frame.

Hearing footsteps falling from the basement below moving lithely towards him, he disappeared back into the shadows, unwilling to be seen. As the boy climbed back out of the building, casting an anxious look around him, Eric caught an aroma in the air that he found was almost impossible to ignore.

Something about the newsboys scent had him intrigued. He could sense not only the desolation in the boy's demeanor, but an aloofness and callousness that didn't mesh with that of a typical junkie, and that, peculiarly enough, reminded him of his self.

With Pam's warning that it was unsafe for him to feed for awhile shoved to the back of his mind, he followed the boy for a few blocks, still oddly fascinated by the awkward sense of contradictions rolling off the older newsboy.

Eric licked his lips, unable to contain himself any longer, and with lightning speed he grabbed the boy, shoving him into an alleyway, anticipating the wonderful taste he was about to experience.

Mysteriously enough, the boy put up no fight, and made no move to defend his self as Eric pinned him against an uneven brick wall, that dug mercilessly into his back, causing him to wince, ever so faintly, in pain. As Eric's fangs extended, he looked into the newsboys eyes and was startled at the lack of fear in them.

Seeing his victims squirming and helpless, pitifully pleading for their lives was one of his favorite parts, and Eric found himself enraged at the boy's seemingly calm, easy acceptance of his fate.

"What's wrong with you," Eric hissed, his fangs prominently displayed for the boy to see. "Why aren't you begging me not to do this? Why aren't you praying for your life?" He roared the last past, shoving the boy once again the brick wall, searching his eyes for the truth.

The newsies eyes met the vampires unapologetically, and he confessed in a still, even voice void of emotion, "Me life has been pointless since it began. Whatever's waiting for me on da other side a dis has ta be better." With determination shining in his eyes, the boy pulled aside the collar of his worn out jacket, offering his neck to Eric. "Please jus' do it. Ya be doin' me a favor."

Carefully, Eric studied the boy before him, who spoke in words wise beyond his years. He hesitated for a brief second, before sinking his fangs deep into the boy's veins. He sucked until there was nothing left to suck, breaking away only when he saw the life exiting the boy's eyes.

Eric threw the boy to the ground, trying to figure out what the feeling in his chest was. He was repulsed with himself to find it was regret at taking a mere humans life. He'd been at this for too many years to count, and he hadn't felt bad since the first one he'd drained so many moons ago. Eric hadn't believed he was capable of feelings anymore and found himself once again infuriated with the newsboy for causing him to have emotions.

But he still couldn't shake the thought from his head that this boy was not one to be tossed in a river forgotten about. Eric wasn't sure if it was the manner in which the boy reminded him of his own self, or something entirely different, but without thinking he found himself ripping open his wrist, and shoving it in the mouth of the now lifeless boy.

Eric gently placed a hand under the boys head, propping it up, and squeezing a few drops of blood from his wrist into the boy's mouth. As the first few drops oozed in something began to awaken in the boy, slowly bringing him back. Eric patiently held his wrist in the boy's mouth, urging him to drink. After a short moment, he felt the boys lips attach to his wrist, and felt his own blood trickling out lacking his help, until it was flowing straight from Eric and into the boy's ravenous mouth in a steady stream.

When Eric was sure he'd had enough, he pried the boy's mouth off his wrist, licking the wound closed, still uncertain as to what had caused him to turn the boy.

_Well, this will give Pam something entirely new to have a temper tantrum about,_ Eric grinned to himself, as he easily scooped the boy's body up, and began searching for an inconspicuous place to bury him so the transformation could be complete.


	4. Waking Up A Vampire

**Disclaimer – Yeah I forgot to do one of these at the beginning of the story. No monetary gain was made from this, blah, blah, blah. I own nothing but the awkward plotline. All characters used from Newsies belong to Disney, all characters used from True Blood belong to either HBO or Charlaine Harris. Obviously. **

**AN - Anyways, if I owned Skittery and Eric, there's **_**no way**_** I would be spending my time in bed with a laptop. C'mon, let's be realistic here, people. As always, enjoy, and for those of you reading this (I know there's some of you, FF told me so) please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, flames will be used for a bonfire, to which I will invite all of my nice reviewers.**

The first thing the newborn vampire noticed as he struggled to open his eyes was a hunger, unlike anything he'd ever felt burning the back of his throat, demanding to be satiated.

The second thing he noticed was the sudden onslaught of his senses. He could hear strange and unfamiliar sounds, unlike anything he'd heard before. From every point in his body he could feel tingling sensations making him wonder if he'd ever known touch before this night. He could smell the dampness of the dirt that surrounded him. Wait, what?

The third thing he noticed was that he was, in fact, buried under ground. A panic rose in his throat, temporarily replacing the unquenchable thirst, as he clawed frantically at the earth that was all around him. As he dug his way out, his hand grasped that of another creature, which yanked him out of his burial spot with ease.

Wild eyed, and jumpy, proving once again where his nickname came from, Skittery stared at the tall, imposing man before him. He slowly backed up, until he bumped into the sturdiness of a tree trunk behind him.

"W-who are you? W-what do you want?" Images darted in and out of Skittery's head, leaving before he could get a complete grasp on them, and understand what they meant. The same man who was before him now pinning him against a wall in an alley. Fangs, where teeth should have been. A fleeting moment of pain in his neck. The man shoving a bleeding wrist in his mouth.

Uneasily, Skittery placed his fingertips against his neck, feeling for the gashes that should have been there. He felt nothing. His mouth began to water as he remembered the taste of the blood the man had forced down his throat. Skittery shoved that thought out of his head, wondering if the drugs he'd smoked had been laced with something more potent than just opiates.

Eric took a cautious step towards the frightened boy, holding out his hands to show he meant no harm. "Everything will be explained in due time, my son. But first you must feed."

The sound of the man's voice brought upon an assault of fresh memories, and suddenly Skittery found himself inexplicably angry at the man.

"I asked ya ta kill me! An' ya didn't!" He accused the man, his voice hoarse from days of not being used. He sank to his knees, tears filling his eyes. "Why didn't ya kill me?"

Softly, Eric defended himself. "I did."

The boy rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, embarrassed to cry in front of this man. When he pulled his hands away a new fright rose in him as he saw blood beginning to stain the parts of his hands that had wiped at the tears.

Eric could sense the horror in the boy, and he gently explained, "Vampires cry blood."

"Vampires." The boy repeated in a voice that didn't give a hint as to what he was feeling now.

Suddenly Skittery found himself laughing a little hysterically. That explained everything. The man in front of him was crazy. Unsteadily, Skittery stood back up and moved around the tree that had blocked him earlier, as he began to back away. "Listen, I gotta get back ta da lodgin' house. I got papes ta sell in da mornin', an' we get up real early." He turned to run, but the man swiftly appeared right next to him, grasping his arm in his hand.

Skittery made a frivolous attempt to free his arm from the strong hand that held it. Eric let the boy struggle, knowing it was something he needed to get out of his system.

When he finally gave up, Eric loosened his grip, though he still didn't let go completely. Repeating himself, he told the boy, "You need to feed."

"Yeah, well, I'll eat soin' back at da lodgin' house, all right? I appreciate ya concern an' all," He trailed off with a half hearted shrug of his shoulders, once again trying to turn and leave.

"You can't go back to wherever you were living before. You can't go back to your old life. Ever." Eric tolerantly explained.

After a few strained, silent minutes, Eric felt the fight drain out of the boy, and he released his grip on the boy's arm entirely. "Come with me." His voice left no room for argument.

Falteringly, Skittery followed him, taking in the sights around him and trying to figure out where he was. It looked familiar, but something was off. Everything was clearer, more vivid. It was the pitch black of night, and yet he could make out his surroundings perfectly.

Even his movements seem more fluid, as he easily managed to keep up with the long strides of the crazy man in front of him. Frazzled, Skittery ran a hand through his dark brown, uncontrollable locks. He brushed the dirt off his clothes best he could, pulling his hand away and staring at it in wonderment when he was positive he could feel every piece of thread that stitched his clothes.

"What's happenin' ta me?" He broke the silence in a voice that betrayed the fear he felt deep in his chest.

"Happened." Eric corrected him. "Not _happening_, seeing as the transformation is already complete. That's why you awoke."

"Look, happen_ed_, happen_in'_, I's don't really give a shit, but what da fuck is goin' on? Why da hell do I feel so weird. All me senses, dey's heightened or soin'. I'm cryin' _blood_ for Chrissakes!" The heavy New York accent of the newsboy got more pronounced as his vice rose, and he got himself more and more worked up.

Eric sensed that he had stopped following him, and he slowed, turning around to face the boy. "You're a vampire now. I drained you're blood, killing you. Then I fed you my own blood, to turn you. The change completed in you when I buried you underground for a few days." Eric could feel his previous patience with the boy wearing thin. "And as I have already told you multiple times, you need to feed. Now come on." He turned, expecting the boy to follow again, and lost his temper when he didn't hear footsteps behind him. "I said let's go!"

"No! I don't know what I smoked da other day, an' what ya've done ta me since den, but ya fuckin' crazy! Vampires ain't real. I may not be educated, but dat don't mean I's stupid." The boy struck a defiant stance, crossing his arms over his chest, and matching Eric's murderous look with one of his own.

Eric cast a glance around him, throwing out his senses, checking that they were still alone in the street. Putting his wrist in his mouth for the second time in a week, he ripped a hole in his flesh, slowly walking towards the boy, with his wrist held in front of him as evidence. The boy's eyes widened in surprise as the wound healed itself, and in seconds there was no sign of the previous abrasion.

In case the boy needed more proof, Eric slowly levitated off the ground, hovering a few feet in the air for a couple seconds before lowering himself back to the ground. "Can we go now?"

Skittery nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet as he trailed after the man. He followed him through the streets, and into an expensive looking office building.

Eric reached behind himself, once again gripping the boys upper arm as they walked passed his office boy, for fear that the unfed newborn vampire would lunge.

In actuality, the thought didn't cross Skittery's mind, as he was too overwhelmed with everything else going on right now, to do much more than notice the pleasant scent in the air. The man led him through a set of oak doors, before he released him, motioning to a couch against the wall.

"Sit there, and wait. Do not move. I will be back," Eric fixed him with a steely gaze to show he meant business before he strode back out the doors, shutting them behind him.

He made his way back to Pam's office, giving her the same lack of respect she showed him as he entered without bothering to knock.

I have someone you might be interested in meeting waiting in my office," he informed her, relaxing into an arm chair, and smirking.

Pam looked up at him warily, not quite trusting the evil smile that played on his lips. She knew that smile, and in all the time she'd known Eric it had never meant anything good. It usually ended up meaning more work and stress for her.

"Who?"

"A new vampire to join us," his smirk turned into a full-fledged grin, and Pam could see he was quite pleased with himself as her brows furrowed, and she rubbed her temples.

"New to us or new to our lifestyle?" She hoped for the first one.

"Both."

"So after I told you to keep a low profile, you went out and changed someone?" She guessed correctly.

Eric lost his smile, and stood up, towering over her. He placed his hands on her desk, leaning down close to her, with a menacing look on his face. "You do not tell me what to do."

Pam avoided the urge to roll her eyes, since they both knew Eric would never get anything done without her here, and they also both knew he'd never hurt her. He still wasn't the first person she'd choose to mess with, though.

"Who did you change?"

"One of those orphaned boys who walk the streets all day selling newspapers. An older one," He added, seeing the look on Pam's face and reassuring her it wasn't a child. As an afterthought he let her know, "I didn't actually mean to. It just sort of happened. But the boy was unhappy anyway. Now he can rejoice at his great fortune." Eric looked very proud of himself.

"This doesn't make you a hero," Pam responded, making a silent promise to herself that she would not get stuck babysitting the newborn.

Eric, who was already on edge and short tempered to begin with, pounded a fist on her desk, causing a crack to form down the middle. This was the third desk he'd destroyed this year.

"And God forbid it would! I didn't do this to be heroic, Pam. I did it for reasons beyond my understanding. For reasons I'm not even aware of yet."

Pam didn't reply right away, for she was too troubled about the look hidden deep in Eric's eyes. "You care for this boy," she realized out loud.

"I care for no one but myself," Eric looked appalled at the thought, but Pam noticed he did not deny her statement.

"How well do you know him?" She wondered.

"I do not know this boy at all. But just as you were years ago, he is now my child. And he needs to feed. So go find someone and bring them back. A girl, please. Around his age. It'll be easier on him that way. Then I'll need you to acquire another coffin for him to sleep in." Eric commanded, making a move for the door before stopping and adding, "Oh, and before you ask, yes, you will be the one to clean up the body."

Pam made a face at his back, but even she knew better than to outright refuse a demand Eric made.


	5. Instinctual

Skittery waited in Eric's office, gazing at his surroundings. Usually at a moment like this, when he felt so out of place, he would be fidgeting like crazy. Typically he'd be wringing his cap in his hands, or scratching at the back of his neck, or cracking his knuckles. But he found he had no urge to fidget, in fact he had no urge to move. He was perfectly content to sit there, still as the Horace Greeley statue the newsboys frequently hung around. As much as he hated to admit, he was beginning to wonder if the blonde haired man wasn't completely off his rocker. Skittery certainly felt different.

He tested the man's theory about them being dead by holding his breath. A few minutes later he confirmed that he wasn't breathing. He'd been using the motions of breathing in and out, inhaling and exhaling, since he'd woken up. But it seemed it had been rather pointless, more habitual that actual necessity.

Glancing towards the closed door, to check that he was still alone, Skittery slowly drug the jagged edge of his chewed up thumb nail down his forearm. He watched a thin line of blood appear, but when he wiped it off there was no cut underneath.

Reaching in his pocket, Skittery was relieved to find his cigarettes still there, as he withdrew one, striking a match. He was quite pleased to find that you didn't need to be breathing to still enjoy smoking.

The door to the office opened, and Eric came striding back in, wrinkling his nose at the putrid smell of cigarette smoke. "There's no smoking in here," He informed the boy.

Skittery glowered at him, unable to bite his tongue as he responded, "Yeah? I didn't see no sign."

"Oh joy. It looks like you and Pam will get along wonderfully. You can sit around making smart ass comments together." Eric sneered. "Would you put that damned thing out?"

"No."

Eric, who was rarely told no, reached out, plucking the cigarette from the boy's lips, and flicking it out the open window. He turned back around, throwing his hands up in the air and wondering if he had a wooden stake somewhere when he saw that they boy already had another cigarette in his teeth and was striking a match.

"Fine," Eric resigned, deciding it wasn't even worth it. "At least blow your smoke that way, away from me." Eric studied the boy across from him for a few minutes. He was tall, nowhere near Eric's height, but not short by any standards. He had the slender build of someone who had probably never had enough to eat, and yet Eric could still see the outline of lean muscle underneath the boy's shirt.

"What's your name, son?" Eric broke the silence that stretched between them as they studied each other.

"Don't call me son," he replied. "I ain'tcha son."

Eric felt no need to correct the boy on his wrongful assumption at this time, and instead waited for the boy to answer him.

"Skittery," He finally muttered, taking a long drag on his cigarette and blowing the smoke directly at Eric.

_I would choose some kid with an attitude problem and a hatred of the world,_ Eric thought to himself, waving the smoke away listlessly. "That's a nickname. I'd like to know your real name, if you don't mind."

"Well, ta tell ya da truth I do mind. I ain't told no one me real name since I was four, an' ya ain't exactly me first choice a who ta tell." Skittery informed him. "So ya can either call me Skittery, or ya can call me noin'. Da choice is yours. I couldn't care less either way."

"Skittery it is," Eric gave a tight smile, reminding himself for the second time that night that it wasn't nice to kill other vampires. "I'm Eric. Eric Northman."

Skittery merely quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was supposed to be impressed, seeing as Eric was giving him an expectant look. _Conceited fuck,_ he thought to himself as he stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray Eric handed him.

"If dere's no smokin' in 'ere, why do ya have an ashtray?"

"Are you always like this, or should I treasure these special moments?" Eric asked, growing sick of the way Skittery seemed to have a remark for everything.

"Like what? Charmin' an' wonderful?" Skittery was quite enjoying himself now, as his face easily slipped into his signature lopsided grin, which always hinted at a mocking undertone.

Eric began to impatiently drum his fingers on his desk, speculating as to what was taking Pam so long. Exasperated, Eric watched as Skittery withdrew another cigarette, striking a match with a flick of his wrist. With a wicked smile still playing at his lips, Skittery's deep glittering brown eyes met Eric's steely blue ones, as he brought the flame to the cigarette dangling out of his mouth. Eric's eyes dared Skittery's to light the cigarette, and Skittery's dared Eric's to stop him.

Leisurely, Skittery touched the flame to the tip of his cigarette, and then shook the match out, waiting to see if Eric would say anything. Always feeling the need to stir the pot, Skittery withdrew the pack from his pocket, holding it out to Eric. "I'm sorry, dat was rude. Didja want one?"

Eric was trying to decide if he should kill him slowly or swiftly when there was an abrupt knock on the door, and Pam entered. "I knocked," She informed Eric.

Eric shot daggers at her with his eyes. "Pam, I don't believe you've had the immense pleasure of meeting," Eric hesitated, hating the silliness of a nickname, "Skittery."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Pam, and Eric could tell she was secretly amused that he was already having trouble with the boy.

She crossed the room, holding a hand out in front of her. "I'm Pam," She greeted him, with an attempt at a warm smile, which was easier said than done.

Skittery stared at her hand, flicked his eyes up at her, took a drag on his cigarette, and completely ignored her.

Pam turned to Eric, eyebrows raised. "Since when do you let people smoke in here?"

"I don't," Eric replied in an aggravated voice.

"I see," Pam hid a laugh behind her hand, as she informed Eric that Skittery's dinner was in the meeting room, and swept out of his office. She had a feeling Eric had finally met his match, and she couldn't wait to watch how it played out.

Eric stood; glancing at the sulking boy slumped in the seat across from him. "Come on."

"Where?"

Eric slowly ticked off the ways he would love to kill the young vampire in his head before answering through clenched teeth. "Just come on."

He walked out the door, and waited for Skittery to join him. It took about ten minutes but eventually Skittery's curiosity got the best of him, and he sauntered out of the office, following Eric into a room a few doors down.

There was a long, oak table with elegant chairs around it taking up most of the room. Sitting in one of the chairs was a beautiful young girl who looked absolutely terrified.

Skittery gave Eric a quizzical look, and asked, "What da hell is dis?"

"Dinner," Eric replied curtly, making a move to leave the room.

"Whoa, hold up a second," Skittery grabbed Eric before he could leave. "Um, I don't know what ya expect me ta do wid dat, but I ain't no fuckin' cannibal 'ere."

Eric suppressed a grin at the baffled look on the newborns face. "I don't expect you to eat her," He explained. "I expect you to drink her blood."

"You want me ta what! No, uh-uh. Sorry, but no way. Dat's jus' sick!" Skittery looked horrified at the thought.

"Did you think this was some kind of game, Boy? If you want to have any strength, you will feed off of her. Come find Pam or I when you're finished," And with no farther explanation given to Skittery, Eric left, closing the door.

Bewildered, Skittery stood there, unsure what was expected of him at this point. He risked a look at the girl, and saw she was silently crying. _Oh, dat's fuckin' great, ain't it? What's he expect me ta do with a sniveling broad?_

"Please don't hurt me," the girl pleaded in a small voice.

Skittery didn't know if vampires got headaches, but he sure felt like he had one. Falteringly, he made his way over to the girl, telling himself that this had to be some type of dream.

He'd only planned on sitting next to the girl, and trying to comfort her or something, but the closer he got to her, the more his vampire instincts began to kick in. Without realizing what he was doing, he ran a hand through the girls long brunette hair, lowering his face towards the pulsing veins in her neck.

He could feel her shaking with fright as he grasped the back of her skull in his hand, but he couldn't bring himself to care about it. All he could think of was the warm blood running through her body. Skittery felt a weird sensation in his mouth, and when he ran his tongue over his top teeth he was not entirely surprised to find that his incisors had become fangs at some point.

Before whatever amount of humanity was left in him could take a hold, Skittery pierced her neck with his newfound fangs, and began to feed for the first time.

He wasn't aware that Eric floated outside the window, watching, with a proud, satisfied smirk on his face.


	6. Skittery's Missing

Stumbling backwards, Skittery shoved the corpse away from himself, horrified at what he'd just done. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, repulsed at the red stain that appeared in contrast on his pink shirt. Skittery wasn't sure if vampires were capable of being sick or not, but he certainly felt like he was going to throw up.

He staggered until his back thudded against the wall, and he slowly sank against it, resting on his haunches and covering his mouth with his hand. He was unsure as to whether he was more appalled at the fact that he'd just drank blood, the fact that he'd just killed someone, or the fact that he'd enjoyed both of those actions.

This hadn't been the first time Skittery had taken a life, but at least the others were self defense. He'd come from a bad situation before he found the newsboys, and his hand had been forced a couple times before. He'd felt no guilt those time though, because it was either them or him. And when you came from the streets, you learned real quick to always put yourself first. There was no other option if you wanted to survive. But the girl lying so still in front of him, with the life drained from her eyes, and the blood drained from her veins had done Skittery no wrong. She hadn't deserved to die. All Skittery could hear in his mind was the girl quietly begging him with one simple word.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered Eric telling him to come find him when he was finished, but Eric was the last person (vampire?) he wanted to see right now. Skittery stared straight ahead at the dead body of what just a few, precious moments ago had been a beautiful young woman. He knew he should get up, but he couldn't make himself move.

And that's exactly how Eric found him when he walked into the room an hour later. Skittery didn't look up or acknowledge Eric's presence at all, but Eric knew he was aware that he'd entered the room. Eric thought back with an odd type of bittersweet fondness to his first night as a vampire.

His reaction towards Godric had been much the same reaction that he'd gotten from Skittery so far. _Without the attitude,_ He added silently to himself, even though he knew that was a lie. He'd gone through the disbelief, and the assuming Godric was crazy, straight into the same quiet acceptance, and revulsion at his actions after his first feeding.

_It's always the first one that's hard,_ Eric remembered. Pam had found the first few difficult, but now she loved the hunt almost as much as Eric himself. Skittery would soon learn to accept what he was, and shortly after that he would realize that he was better than the humans, and that they were merely there for the food and the entertainment of the vampires.

Eric kept silent, allowing the boy his contemplation, and sat down a few feet away from him, waiting. He knew what was coming next. He wasn't sure how long he'd have to wait, but Eric had no doubt in his mind that the next step was going to be the anger at the maker.

Eric could still remember how he'd lashed out at Godric after his first feeding. He was disgusted with himself, and he accused Godric. Godric had simply let him yell until Eric was out of words, then he'd held him while the blood ran down his face. He hadn't flinched when Eric had started beating him; he let him get it out of his system. And eventually, Eric had. He'd come to respect Godric, and had stayed with him for some time, until they both felt it was time for Eric to strike out into the world as his own vampire.

And now, here Eric was, finding himself on the other side of things, as he watched the newsboy sitting there, one emotion after another flicking through his eyes, unable to decide which one to go with. He raised his face, as the emotions battled within him, and the second his eyes met Eric's, rage and hatred won, just as Eric had known all along they would.

Skittery jumped up from his spot on the floor, pointing a finger at Eric, accusation written on his face, and venom dripping from his eerily calm voice. "You. Ya did dis ta me."

Eric stood also, and gave a brief nod of his head, not denying the truth of the statement. "Yes," he responded in a quiet voice.

Skittery stood there, staring at him for a moment, before he turned his back to Eric, gathering his thoughts. When he finally turned back around, he had his eyes closed, as he spoke. "Why couldn't ya a just left me dead? I don't want dis life. I don't wanna be like ya."

"It's too late for that, child. You already are like me. More so than you know."

"I'm noin' like ya!" Skittery voice finally exposed his true emotions, as he lost his temper and started advancing on Eric, condemning him. "I will never be aythin' like ya! I don't want dis! I didn't ask for dis! Take it away!"

"It can't be undone," Eric explained in a tender voice that lacked its usual cruel tinge.

Skittery stood stock still in front Eric, absorbing his words. Eric expected the boy to start hitting him, pounding on his chest and hollering at hm. But Skittery merely shrunk down to his knees, looking down, seemingly engrossed in the carpet. When he finally raised his head, looking up at Eric, a single red tear of thick, dark blood had painted itself down his face.

"Den jus' kill me for good dis time. Please."

"I could no more kill you than I could kill Pam. You are my child now, and I would not be able to do that."

Skittery stood back up, looking Eric directly in the eye. "I ain't ya child. I's never gonna be ya child. Don't ever call me dat again," he spat, the spite returning to his voice. "I never wanna see ya again." He turned to leave, and Eric reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Where are you going to go? What are you going to do when the sun comes up? You know nothing now, you need me."

"I's never needed anyone in me life before, an' I ain't plan on startin' now," he responded without turning around. He shrugged out of Eric's touch, making a move for the door, but Eric was already across the room, blocking his exit.

"You will not leave this building," he commanded. "You can't go out on the streets alone, you're too new. You have no idea how to control your hunger. It would be mayhem, and you would expose us by tomorrow morning."

"Get outta me way."

"I can't do that."

Skittery finally lost it, launching himself at Eric, eyes blazing and fists going. Eric stood there, taking it, letting the boy pound on him until he had nothing left and slumped to the floor, looking every bit like a lost little boy with nowhere to go. Eric lowered himself to the ground, cradling the boys head against his chest, soothing him in a language long since forgotten.

Skittery allowed Eric to hold him, either unable or unwilling to make himself stand up and leave. After a few tense, silent moments, Skittery shoved Eric away, and hugged his knees to his chest. "Dere's no goin' back." It wasn't exactly a question, but Eric shook his head in response anyway.

Skittery stood up, slightly unsteady, but with a gritty look shadowing his face. He looked over his shoulder at the dead girl, and then fixed his eyes on Eric. "I will always hate ya for dis," he stated, opening up the door and walking out.

Eric knew he wasn't going to leave the building, so he let the boy walk away, and nodded an acknowledgement at Pam who was entering the room.

"How is he?" She asked, watching him stalk off down the hall.

"Abhorrent," Eric gave a wry grin as he said this. They both knew it would take some time, but sooner or later Skittery would come to terms with his new way of life. He'd learn that the sunshine was nothing to miss, for it was replaced with the endless beauty of the moon and stars. He'd learn how wonderful it was to be the most powerful and deadly creature in the world. Immortality was nothing to be angry about.

"His coffin is in the same room as yours. If that's not where you wanted it, you may move it yourself while I take care of this," Pam gestured at the girl.

Eric nodded at her, deciding to ignore the insubordinate tone that loitered in her voice, and left the room. Walking back into his office, he sat down behind his desk, not saying a word to Skittery who was sitting on the couch, smoking and glowering at him. He busied himself with fake paperwork for a few minutes before finally casting a glance out the window.

"The sun is rising soon," He commented.

Skittery made no move to show he'd heard him, but Eric knew he had.

"Come on," Eric stood; waiting to make sure Skittery was following before he left the office, heading to the room at the end of the hall. He ushered the boy in the darkened room. It was small, with no windows, and deadbolts decorating the door all the way up.

Eric locked each one with precise movements, and motioned to a shiny black coffin, raised off the ground and sitting on a stand, almost identical to the one next to it, right down to the red satin lining.

"Yours," Eric grunted, climbing into the other one.

"You's 'spect me ta sleep in a coffin?" Skittery asked, bewildered.

"I'm not sure I would call what we do sleeping, but yes. Or you may go outside and greet the sun, if you like. The choice is yours." And with that, Eric closed the lid to his coffin.

Skittery glared where Eric had been a moment ago, before aiming a kick at the coffin. He was finding it almost impossible to keep his eyes open, though, so reluctantly he heaved himself into the empty one, pulling the lid shut. Within seconds he was, quite literally, dead to the world.

* * *

Spot Conlon leisurely made his way toward Manhattan, grumbling to himself about being forced to leave Brooklyn, even if it was only for an hour or two. Roughly, he yanked open the door to Tibby's, the restaurant the Manhattan newsies tended to frequent, for reasons beyond Spots understanding.

Spot was an odd combination of contradictions. Intelligent and vastly cruel, yet fiercely loyal to the few people he cared about and to his beloved Brooklyn. Not many people knew the true Spot Conlon, and most people feared him. Spot preferred it this way, as he enjoyed having his space. He wasn't tall, but what he lacked in height he made up for in viciousness. Only a few brave souls had ever dared to cross him, for he was known for his vengeance and general detestation of the world around him.

He nodded a greeting at the boys, stopping to exchange words with the few that he didn't out and out despise, before he dropped into the empty seat across from Jack Kelly. Silently, they studied each other for a minute. The two leaders weren't exactly what one would call best friends, but they had a mutual respect for each other, and got along pretty well most days. Spot had decided during the strike that he didn't completely hate Jack.

"A little birdie told me ya wanted ta see me," Spot said, and Jack could sense that Sot was not happy with being summoned. Spot thought everyone should cater to him, and Jack was relatively surprised he had actually shown, and not forced Jack to trek out to Brooklyn in search of him.

"T'ought ya might wanna know dat Skittery disappeared sometime las' night, an' didn't come back."

Spot absorbed this news without much fascination. Spot and Skittery were cousins, and had grown up together. They'd been through the same childhood, and a certain bond had formed between them due to the things they'd seen and experienced together. Skittery was quite possibly the only person who could challenge Spot and live to tell the tale. He was certainly the only person Spot held as being on the same ground as him. They remained close, even when Skittery had left Brooklyn, and headed to Manhattan, saying he needed a fresh start. Spot knew his cousin wasn't exactly a role model child though, and this wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that he stayed out all night with no thought or regard given to those who might notice he was missing.

Shrugging as he lit a cigarette, Spot alleged, "He's be back, what's da big deal?"

"Well, he didn't show at da distribution center neither," Jack explained. This stumped Spot, since he knew that Skittery hadn't missed a day of selling in over ten years. He'd sold through the freezing winters, and relentless heat and he'd sold when he caught a bout of influenza that had almost claimed his life.

Spot gestured at the waiter to bring him a beer, which he drained quickly, before fixing Jack with a look as he rose out of his seat. "Come find me when he shows up," Spot refused to show emotion or worry over what had caused his older cousin to disappear and miss a day of selling.

As he made his way back to Brooklyn alone with his thoughts, he felt the concern settle deep into his bones. Something didn't feel right to him. Skittery would never miss a day of selling, and Spot knew that for a fact. He wasn't stupid, he knew his cousin spent his nights getting high, hell he joined him half the time, but Skittery had always managed to get up at the crack of dawn and hawk the headline, anyway. He wondered if Skittery had gotten sick of Manhattan as he had of Brooklyn a while back and taken to a new borough. It wasn't something that was done often, but on more than one occasion a newsboy had been known to get sick of where they were and move to a different lodging house within New York. Skittery himself had done it a few years back, leaving a dumbfounded Spot behind to lead the Brooklyn newsies in his absence.

_But_, Spot reasoned with himself, _if Skittery was at a different place, I woulda heard about it ._Not much went on in the city that Spot didn't know about. Especially if it concerned his own flesh and blood. Spot tore his cap off his head, shoving it in his back pocket, and ran a tanned, scarred hand through his dirty blonde hair. His ice blue eyes fixed on a pigeon resting on the edge of the docks, and he whipped out his sling shot, focusing on the birds head. The marble shot through the wind, knocking the pigeon directly into the water, and Spot let out an evil chuckle at his accuracy.

He heaved an over-exaggerated sigh to himself, as he settled into the resolution that his night would be spent checking the different opium dens and bars littered throughout Manhattan to see if he could locate his typically responsible cousin.

**AN – Yes, Spot fans, Spot will be a featured character in this fic! Yay! Sorry for the delay in updating, I as out of town all weekend, and Eric and Skittery wouldn't cooperate anyway causing this chapter to take me freaking **_**forever**_** to think up and type. Um, review? Please?**


	7. Spot Learns the Truth

Grumbling at his misfortune and the negligence of his cousin, Spot grabbed his characteristic gold tipped cane and yanked his bright red suspenders onto his shoulders. It was the middle of the night, but did he get to sleep after a long day of selling? No, he got to go trek all around Manhattan looking for Skittery. _Manhattan,_ Spot repeated again in his mind, the sound of it making him nauseous. He hated Manhattan, and would never understand how Skittery could have left their home in the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House to go there of all places. _Queens, Eas' Side, Harlem, da Bronx, any a dose I woulda understood. But 'Hattan? Christ. An' I always t'ought ya was so damn smart, Skitts._ Disgusted, Spot shook his head, as he stormed out into the brisk night.

This was the third night in a row Spot had been forced to miss a full nights sleeps just to hike the deserted streets of New York looking for Skittery, and Spot was beginning to find himself resenting Skittery for this. He had also decided that this would be the last night he would bother looking. If Skittery couldn't be bothered to come home or let Spot know he wasn't dead, then Spot reasoned he shouldn't be bothered to waste his bedtime looking for him. If it had been anyone but Skittery, he would have looked for a maximum of twenty minutes one night and then decided to give up. But he'd known Skittery his whole life, and they were closer than most brothers Spot knew, so he drug himself across the bridge and into Manhattan, yet again.

He decided to start with the most obvious places that Skittery would be, but after an hour or two with no luck he was starting to lose patience. "Dammit!" He swore out loud, causing the bums in the alleyway he was exiting to look at him like he was the one with issues. He checked the same places he'd checked every other night, looked down the same alleyways, peered into the same abandoned buildings, and glanced around the same smoke filled bars, vaudevilles, and whore houses.

Kicking at the cobblestone in frustration, Spot continued on, about to head back to Brooklyn to see if he could save a few hours of sleep. He felt the tension and annoyance rain out of his body when he saw Skitterys form walking towards him down the street. He wasn't alone, though. He was accompanied by a tall, wealthy looking man on his left side and a beautiful, arrogant looking woman on his right. His face held a look that said he was clearly not pleased with this situation, and Spot cursed again under his breath, wondering what the hell trouble his cousin had gotten himself into.

"Skitts!" Spot jogged up to him, wondering if he should hug him or soak him. Hugging was _not_ his style though, so he went with slapping him on the back in greeting. "Where da hell ya been? I's been lookin' for ya dese past few days, an' da others written ya off as dead."

A short bark of humorless laughter escaped Skittery's lips at the ironically correct assumption.

He didn't answer right away, and Spot looked closer at the taller boy in front of him. Something was off, though Spot couldn't his finger on it. He looked paler, and had dark circles under his eyes. The way he moved was different, too, Spot noted with curiosity. It was more fluid, not his normal jerky actions. And the way he was standing, so still and unmoving, he wasn't fidgeting or scratching, he just stood there, jarringly motionless.

With a composed, silky voice, that Spot knew always hinted at a lie coming from Skitterys lips he finally answered.

"Here an' dere. Wasn't in da mood ta go ta da lodgin' house dese past coupla nights."

Spot was thoroughly unconvinced. He knew Skittery occasionally chose to sleep on the streets, but it wasn't warm out enough for that explanation. And he had skipped selling too.

"Well, why da hell didn't ya sell durin' da day? Ya ain't never missed a day. An' who da hell are dese people?" He waved a hand at the two people flanking his sides, who were giving Spot a look that sent chills down his spine. And that pissed Spot off. Spot Conlon wasn't scared of anyone.

Skittery didn't respond, just took a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one up, and offering the pack to Spot. Spot waved it away, annoyance washing over him at the nonchalance that was thick in the air around his cousin. He'd spent the past few days fretting over his disappearance, and the past few nights searching for him, and Skittery's response was to lie to his face? Spot could feel his anger rising, but tried not to let his temper get the best of him.

"Well, den, if ya ain't gonna answer me ya can come back ta Brooklyn for da night. C'mon," Spot reached out to grab his sleeve with the intention of dragging Skittery after him if he had to. He didn't like the looks of the new people Skittery had taken up with.

"Nah, I's fine 'ere," Skittery pulled his arm away in a flash of movement so fast that Spot's human eyes couldn't follow.

"Uh, Skitts? Can I's talk at ya over 'ere for a bit? Alone," he shot a look at the still silent forms standing near Skittery.

"Whatever you have to say to Skittery, please, feel free to say in front of Pam and I," Eric finally spoke, seemingly bored by the whole situation. Pam was silently cursing Eric for being stupid enough to turn someone who was obviously missed, despite Eric's previous claim that he wouldn't be.

Eric connected eyes with Pam behind Skittery back, and evil shone from them. Pam gave a slight shake of her head, indicating that it probably wouldn't warm Skittery up to them any sooner if Eric killed the boy standing in front of them.

Spot bristled at the way Eric talked down to him, as if he was nothing more than a bug on his shoe. "Listen, I don't know who ya t'ink ya are-"

Eric cut him off. "I know who I am, boy. You are boring me. Please leave."

Spot made a move for the man, ready to take him down, and gave a groan of surprise when Skittery tackled him instead. He hadn't even seen Skittery move.

"Ya can't take 'im. Trust me," Skittery told Spot through clenched teeth.

Spot glared at his cousin as he stood up, brushing the dirt off. In all the time they'd known each other they had always had the others back, even in a fight that may not have made sense to the other one, or that was without a doubt a lost cause. They'd supported each other in every fight, even if they secretly thought the other was wrong, and Spot was irate at being thwarted.

Skittery grabbed a hold of Spot, jerking him away from Eric and Pam, and giving an Eric a look to let them be for a minute. Eric didn't take orders from anyone, but he decided to respect the boy's decision, in the hopes of building up some kind of trust between them.

"Look, Spot, dat guy'll kill ya in a heartbeat, an' he won't t'ink twice 'bout it neither," Skittery desperately needed Spot to understand his actions. He knew the reason Spot was the only one out looking for him was because Spot was the only one that cared. And even though he was being forced to lead a new life now, he couldn't let go of that one link to his old life. Spot and him had always been there for each other and the last thing he wanted right now was for Spot to hate him because of his quick temper. He'd seen Spot cut people out of his life for a lot less than what he'd just done.

Spot's features softened, well as much as his features ever softened, and he nodded an acceptance. He knew Skittery was only trying to look out for him, but he was still heated at the fact that Skittery didn't think he could take that guy.

"Who are dey?' Spot asked, waving a hand towards where Pam and Eric stood.

At this question a bit of the old Skittery finally shined through, as he reached up scratching his neck, and refusing to make eye contact with Spot.

"Jus', uh, some people I met."

"Don't ya lie ta me, Skittery! We's never made a habit a dat, don't ya dare start now. Ya tell me what's goin' on before I force it outta ya!"

Skittery gave a dry, sardonic laugh at this, knowing that even before he'd been turned he was one of the few people Spot couldn't take down. Not to mention, he knew Spot would never try anyway. It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.

"I's can't tell ya dat, cousin. Sorry," He shrugged, but he didn't look very sorry.

"Fine, jus' answer me dis, den. How worried should I be?"

Skittery looked at Spot, and a brief look of grief flashed through his eyes, as he finally gave Spot an honest answer. "I dunno."

Slowly, Spot nodded, understanding the lost look on his face. "Well, if ya needs soin' ya know where ta find me."

"Brooklyn," Skittery smirked, shaking his outstretched hand and watching his cousin stroll off. He frantically wanted to chase after him, and tell him what was going on, but he didn't want to put the younger boy at risk by exposing the secrets of vampires to him. So he watched him walk away until his figure disappeared around a corner. Disappointment sunk down on Skittery as he turned back to Pam and Eric, wishing they were his cousin. This might have been a fun, exciting adventure as opposed to a curse if he'd been doing it with Spot.

"The choice is yours," Eric said coming up to him, correctly guessing what the look of longing on Skitterys face hinted at.

Skittery's shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. "Nah. Da choice is his."

Eric didn't understand why, but he found himself quite willing to give this boy whatever it would take to make him change his mind about him. For inexplicable reasons he needed Skittery to trust him, and look up to him, as he had to Godric.

"Fine then. The choice of whether or not to give him a choice is yours and yours alone." Eric cut off Pam's oncoming protest with a menacing look. "Go after him," He commanded Skittery.

As tempting as his offer was, Skittery found he was unable to make his feet move. "I wouldn't wish dis curse on me worst enemy, let alone me best friend."

Eric could feel his blood boiling, and he turned on the maddening, ignorant boy. "This is not a curse! It is a gift!" He bellowed, raising a hand to strike him.

Pam gripped his hand in hers before he could bring it down, and drug Eric down the street, away from Skittery.

"It will do no good to hit him, and you know that. I thought this was a curse at first, too, as well as you did, I'm sure. He's only been a vampire for one day, give him time to adjust."

Eric scowled at Pam, before finally turning around to retrieve Skittery so they could leave.

"Where did he go," Eric growled at Pam, demanding an answer.

"I'm not his babysitter, how should I know? Let's just go back, he'll be back my morning if he doesn't want to die," She shrugged, not really caring one way or another.

Eric snarled again, rage burning in his eyes, as he grabbed Pam by the throat, shoving her against the wall. "Find him." He threw her to the ground, and disappeared into the night sky.

_You find him,_ She thought to herself, as she turned in the direction of their office.

* * *

Spot sauntered down the street, heading towards Brooklyn, trying to place his finger on what exactly had changed in Skittery. There were the obvious things, of course, but there was also something else. His demeanor, his attitude, there was a strange look in his eyes. They didn't even look like his eyes anymore.

Spot was startled out of his thoughts when he heard a muffled scream coming from the alleyway across the street. He was set to ignore it, that's how he'd been raised. You minded your own business, and you didn't go looking for trouble.

He hastened his walk, unwilling to get caught in the middle of whatever was going on. He had enough problems right now, and the last thing he felt like dealing with was some broad getting what she probably deserved across the street. He heard the scream again, though, and something in it sounded so absolutely terrified, that he cursed himself as he headed over to check it out.

He peered into the dark, trying to see what was going on. He could just barely make out two shapes. A lanky guy had a smaller girl up against the brick wall, and his head was bent down at her neck. He must have heard something though, because he looked up, directly at Spot. The streetlight glinted off him, and for some unknown reason Spot was unsurprised to see it was cousin.

He was, however, surprised to see the blood thirsty, slightly crazed look that sparkled in his eyes when they caught the light. Spot's eyes travelled down Skittery's face, and when he saw fangs, he started to inch forward, slowly.

"Skitts, cuz, it's me. What are ya doin'? Why don'tcha let dat girl go home?" Spot gestured unnecessarily with his cane towards the frightened girl.

Spot got closer, and he could see that the girl had two identical holes, side by side, pierced in her neck, and Spot could see the pink tint of blood glistening off of Skitterys fangs. This had to be some sick, elaborate joke. But the look in Skittery's face didn't look like he was teasing right now, as he growled at Spot.

"Go home, Conlon." His voice didn't match the wild look in his eyes. It was deceitfully serene and cold as ice.

Spot closed the short span of distance between them, and yanked the girl away from him. Skittery could have easily stopped him, but he didn't bother. Spot shoved the girl out of the alleyway with instructions to go home, and he turned back to his cousin, who had sunk down in the middle of the alley, and was rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Wait up 'til sunrise wimme, Spot," he didn't stop rocking, and he didn't look up at him.

"What? Why?" Spot was thrown off guard by the seemingly random question.

"'Cause dis ain't what I wanna be, and dat's da only way I's know ta end all dis."

Spot crouched down next to Skittery, lighting a cigarette, and handing it to him before lighting one of his own. "End what? Ya ain't exactly makin' sense dere, Skitts."

Skittery sucked on the cigarette in silence for a minute, before raising his head to look at Spot. He shook his hair out of his eyes, and gave a dry laugh.

"Look at me Spot! I'm not even fuckin' human anymore!"

"Yeah, dis city can make me feel like sometimes too," Spot misunderstood Skittery's statement.

"No! Dat ain't what I mean! I have fuckin' fangs, Spot! Don'tcha find dat jus' a little bit odd?" Skittery stood in a movement so quick Spot knew something unnatural was going on. Skittery towered over Spot's still crouched frame, and told him, "Hit me."

"A'ight, Skitts. Let's get ya back ta da lodgin' house so you's can sleep it off," He stood up, hoping Skittery would follow. He didn't.

Skittery turned, slamming his fist into the brick wall with all of his force. Spot gaped at the small crack that appeared in the buildings structure.

"Okay, so you's a little stronger dan I 'member," he said slowly.

Skittery didn't reply, just held his smashed up fist out in front of him, stalking towards Spot. Immediately Spot saw the point Skittery was trying to make, as the broken bones healed themselves, and the wounds closed up in front of his eyes. Spot stared at Skittery's hand before raising his eyes to the older boy's face.

"What da hell are ya?" He asked.

"Vampire."


	8. Wistfulness and Satin

Spot studied his cousin silently for a long time, staring at him so intently that Skittery started to feel uncomfortable.

"Say soin', Spot. Anythin'."

"I gotta get back ta Brooklyn so I's can get up ta sell in da mornin'," Spot finally said, as he turned and walked away with hastened steps.

Skittery knew he could have gone after him and easily caught up to him, but he let him walk away. With a dejected slouch in his shoulders Skittery left the alley, turning the direction of Eric's office, knowing he had nowhere else to go. A few weeks ago, if you'd asked him he would never have thought it would be possible to look longingly upon life as a newsie. He'd hated that life. Being looked disgracefully upon as street trash, living hand to mouth, praying to God each day that you'd make enough money to afford a bed for the night, and maybe even some dinner. Now he'd give anything in the world to have that life back.

Skittery gazed at his surrounding as he walked, trying to get used to this new version of New York City, the only one he would ever see now. The dark streets, the closed up shops, everything looked so desolate at night. This wasn't his city anymore. His city had been full of life, filled with vendors in the street, kids going to and from school, delivery boys running packages from one place to another, horse drawn carriages trying to get through the crowded streets. He'd never again walk through the chaos yelling out an immensely improved headline, trying to trick people into buying a paper. Never again would he be able to sit around Tibby's drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and discussing the day with the other newsies. Never again would he sit around the table in the dingy common room playing a hand of cards, he'd never wake up to Kloppman smacking him and yelling his name again, he'd never be given the chance to do one of the million things he'd taken for granted again.

Summer had always been Skittery's favorite time of the year. All the newsies would spend the long summer nights ignoring the heat, shirts stripped off in a futile effort to remain cool while the relentless summer sun beat down on their backs, playing stick ball in Central Park. Skittery would sometimes play, and sometimes not, but he loved to just watch the younger kids playing in the park. The little kids who had an innocence that this harsh city had yet to steal from them. He longed for an innocence like that, the positive outlook those kids had, as they played games with their brothers and sisters in the park. When it started to get dark, they'd head home because they had parents waiting for them. Parents who would worry if they didn't show up, who cared about them, and who loved them. Parents that were as far from different as the dismal excuse for parents that Skittery had known growing up. It never angered him exactly, that he had never had the fortune of knowing such love and purity, it just sort of made him long for it. Skittery would have given anything to know what it was like for just one day to not be aware of the harsh truths of the city and the world. To feel like he belonged, and like he was wanted. Now he had somehow found a way to belong even less, and the only person who had ever cared if he was alive or dead seemed sickened by what he'd become.

Skittery had never asked to be born, and he'd never really treasured his life the way a lot of people did. To him immortality was certainly not a blessing of any kind. He didn't want to be alive in the first place, so why the hell would he want to live forever?

Resolutely, Skittery sat down in the middle of the sidewalk, deciding to see what happened when a vampire met the sun. It was an hour or so until sunrise yet, but it seemed now he had nothing but time to waste.

* * *

For the second time that night, Spot turned from his cousin, heading for Brooklyn. Both times he'd felt uneasy leaving Skittery, but this time was vastly different from the last. He knew he'd reacted badly to the situation, but how exactly were you supposed to react to learning that the only person you trusted in the world was now the walking dead?

_Vampires ain't suppose ta be real,_ Spot told himself. _Dey's soin' made up, stories ta scare kids inta bein' straight, an' make 'em stop misbehavin'._ That was the truth, that was fact. But Spot had seen the differences in Skittery with his own eyes. He had seen a broken hand mend itself, and a boy move at a speed so fast he was nothing but a blur. Things he held as truths his entire life were now being shaken and disproved.

Spot shook his head, trying to clear it, and also trying to shove the image out of the abandoned, hurt look on his cousin's face when he'd retreaded so hastily after his confession.

But this wasn't something you could just spring on a guy and expect the reply to be, 'Oh, well, that's okay. Wanna go grab a beer?' Was there really a right or wrong way to react to the news that your cousin is now a mythological creature? Probably not, but Spot still didn't feel right about the way he'd left. He stopped in the middle of the street, banging his cane on the ground in frustration, as he tried to make up his mind.

_Dammit, Skitts. Ya better fuckin' appreciate dis. I could be home an' in bed. But no, I hafta be da nice un, an' go make sure ya's okay._ Spot just hoped no one found out he'd been nice. It would ruin his reputation of a ruthless leader.

As he walked back the way he'd just come, Spot banged his cane into everything he passed, completely and utterly annoyed and pissed off at the current situation. It didn't take long for Spot to see the outline of his cousin, sitting in the middle of the street. Spot lowered himself to the ground, sitting next to him in silence, and waiting for him to speak.

Eventually, Skittery raised his head, looking over at Spot. "Wait wimme, Spot." He repeated his earlier plea.

Spot shoved a cigarette in his mouth but didn't light it, just let it dangle uselessly from his lips while he chewed on it like a piece of straw. Ripping the worthless cigarette out of his mouth, he threw it on the ground and spit out the loose tobacco coating his gums. "I ain't gonna wait widdya while ya try ta kill yaself, stupid."

Skittery gave a sad smile, and stared at the destroyed cigarette lying abandoned on the cobblestones. "I's already dead, Spot. Hell, I was dead long before Eric got ta me."

Spot was uncertain how to respond, so he awkwardly placed a comforting hand on Skittery's shoulder. "C'mon, Skitts. Let's get ya home," He stood, placing his hands under Skittery's arms, and hoisting him up. "Where ya stayin'?" Spot figured the lodging house was out, and he looked inquisitively at Skittery, waiting for an answer.

Skittery gave a vague gesture down the street, and they started walking.

"Whaddya want me ta tell da 'Hattan boys when dey ask 'bout ya whereabouts?" Spot couldn't stand the strained silence that was vibrating in the air around them.

Skittery, being the more comfortable of the two with silence, didn't answer except to give a slight shrug of his shoulders and a minuscule shake of his head.

"Well I hafta tell 'em soin'," Spot pressed on.

"Tell 'em whadever da hell ya want Spot, dey ain't me concern no more," The words came out angrier than he'd meant, but he didn't bother to apologize. That was the reassuring thing about their relationship. They both tended to flip out and take out their frustrations on the other one, but an apology was never expected.

Still, Spot scowled at his cousin, slightly annoyed that he'd spent so much of his time the past few night looking for and worrying about Skittery, only to be snapped at. "I ain't da one ya mad at 'ere, Skitts," Spot reminded him, somehow managing to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Skittery lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a perfect, hazy white ring, before extending the cigarette out to Spot as an apology. "Yeah, I know," He resigned, as Spot took the offering.

In a practiced motion, Skittery struck a match on the bottom of his shoe, lighting up a second cigarette to keep, and made a sudden turn into a fairly new looking building, pulling a key out of his pocket and jamming it in the lock. He opened the door, turning back to Spot. "Comin' or goin'?"

Spot knew that was as good as the invitation got, and his curiosity got to him, as he followed Skittery into the building, stopping behind Skittery every so often while he rifled a different key out of his pocket, unlocking each door they had to go through.

"Dey's pretty tight on deir security 'ere, ain't dey?" Spot noticed after the fourth locked door.

Skittery grunted, and explained, "Dey hafta be. Apparently Eric's pretty high up in da ranks a vamps, an' a vampire is at his most vulnerable durin' da day when dey's sleepin' or whad have ya."

Spot considered this for a minute, before pointing out the most obvious flaw in the explanation. "But da other vampires would be sleepin' too, wouldn't dey?"

Skittery shook his head, biting his lower lip to keep from smiling. "I didn't mean deir vulnerability ta other vamps. I meant deir vulnerability ta humans who know about vamps an' want ta destroy dem."

Spot couldn't help but notice the fact that Skittery referred to the vampires as them and not us, but he had enough sense to not to state his observation out loud. He made a sound in the back of his throat, indicating that he understood what Skittery was getting at. They walked down the hall with the only sound being that of the steady thump of Spot's cane on the ground as they walked.

Spot had a tendency to pay very close attention to his surroundings. He noticed every tiny detail, for you never knew when it would come in handy. He saw the scuff mark on the tile, and the scratch in the wood near the third door. He took in the shiny brass doorknobs, which perfectly matched the torches lighting their way. And the fact that they were in a place nicer than any Spot had ever stepped foot in certainly didn't escape Spot.

He halted to a stop behind Skittery, who was fishing yet another key out of his pocket, and then trailed in after him to what must have been the room they'd given to Skittery. Spot wasn't sure why he knew that though, the room didn't have anything distinctive in it. There was a huge plush bed with red satin sheets and thick black blankets, an oak dresser the color of ripe cherries, smoky grey carpeting, walls so white it almost hurt to look at them, and a deep blood red couch shoved in the corner. The windows in the room were high and wide, but they had drapes in the same deep red pulled tightly shut, not allowing any of the moonlight to shine through.

Spot motioned towards the bed, "So da coffin t'ing ain't true?"

Skittery sunk on the couch, propping his feet up on the table in front of it. "Nah, it's true. I ain't figured out da bed t'ing yet. I t'ink it deir twisted idea of a sick joke." He nodded his head at the couch, signifying for Spot to join him.

Spot took a seat, and if he'd been the type to care he would have felt bad about sitting on such a pristine piece of furniture in his grungy clothes.

"So dey can give ya dese nice digs, but dey can't give ya nicer clothes?" He attempted a joke, sick of the tension.

Skittery smirked, and pointed to the dresser. "Dere's plenty a nicer clothes in dere, but I like me own clothes jus' fine."

"Yeah, pink always did suit ya." Spot finally managed to get a small chuckle out of Skittery, who glanced idly down at his signature pink shirt.

"So why'd ya come back, Spot?" He got serious again, looking directly at his cousin.

Spot hesitated, lightly banging his cane on the ground as he thought. "Dunno. Loyalty? We's never left each other high an' dry before, why start now?"

Skittery slowly nodded, before he stood up stretching. "Da sun's comin' up soon. I can feel it. If ya ain't wantin' ta head back ta Brooklyn, ya welcome ta sleep 'ere."

Spot looked over at the inviting bed, and then thought back to the bunk bed in the lodging house. I squeaked every time you blinked, and the springs were poking through in some places. But by the time he got back, it'd be time to head to the distribution center, anyway, so he decline his cousins offer with a shake of his head. "Gotta go carry da banner."

"Skip a day."

"Can't afford ta, Skitts. Y'know dat."

"If ya's worried 'bout da money, I's get ya what ya woulda made taday plus some. Trust me. Money ain't much of an issue anymore."

Spot wasn't one to take charity, but he knew Skittery wasn't looking at this as charity. He could tell by the indifferent tone in his voice and the wistful look in his eyes that Skittery merely wanted someone he knew here the next night, so he gave in. "Okay."

"Yeah? All right," Skittery gave a rare honest grin, handing Spot the key. "'Ere. If ya need anythin', ask one a da office boys. I's be back up at nightfall." He wandered to the door, tossing a look back over his shoulder at Spot. "T'anks Spot," he mumbled, before shutting the door behind him.

He walked lightly down the hallway, pausing outside Eric's office door, and listening to see if he was alone. Hearing no sounds coming from the other side, he rapped on the door quickly, opening it when Eric yelled out "Enter!"

Eric didn't look up from his desk, but he didn't need to either to know who was walking in. "So you decided to come back, huh?"

The boy ignored the redundant question, instead informing him, "Me cousins stayin' 'ere taday."

"Are you asking or telling me?" Eric finally looked up, not pleased that it wasn't run by him first.

"Tellin'," Skittery shot back, raising his eyebrows, willing Eric to do something about it.

Eric rubbed a hand across his brow, glad he'd had so many years at working to control his temper, or else this boy would have pushed him over the edge by now. "Is he joining us or not?"

"Couldn't tell ya."

"So you didn't offer it to him yet?" Eric felt relieved at hearing this, hoping that maybe that meant Skittery didn't want to turn his cousin. "Are you going to?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

"I've been thinking, and maybe it isn't such a good idea after all," Eric began only to be cut off.

"Yeah? Well, too bad. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea ta turn me inta one a ya widout askin' me first," Skittery retorted, wrenching open the door to leave.

"Don't you walk away from me boy!" Eric stood up, cutting in front of Skittery and slamming the door closed.

Skittery met his harsh gaze, unblinking, nowhere near as terrified as most in his situation would have been. "Or what?" He asked levelly, before shoving past Eric and exiting the way he came in.

Eric cursed out loud, and from down the hallway Pam laughed silently to herself, enjoying the show.


	9. Brooklyn Drama

Skittery awoke with a jolt and a fright. He was in a confined space, and he hated confined spaces. He couldn't see anything, he could barely move and he was pretty sure he was in a box. Panicked, he shoved at the lid blocking him, easily opening it, and in a flash he jumped out. Disoriented, he looked around the strange room, before finally realizing where he was as the events of the past few days came flooding back to him. He laughed at himself, albeit nervously, and remembered he'd done the same thing the night before. If he was destined for a thousand lifetimes of waking up in horror, he really didn't want to continue down this lonely road. And he really, really hated confined spaces.

It probably had something to do with being locked in a small chest with his terrified cousin when they were little. He had been only five so Spot couldn't have been more than three. They'd been playing innocently, Spot having been left in the care of Skittery while their moms went out to sell themselves to try and make a buck. Then Skittery's dad had shown up and needed the place to his self for "entertainment." He'd said he couldn't have two kids wandering around, and he shoved them in the trunk and locked it. And forgotten about them. It was almost a day later when someone finally let them out. That was pretty much Skittery's first memory, and sadly it was probably his happiest one, too.

Skittery shuddered slightly, shoving memories of a time and place long since forgotten out of his head. He threw a look towards Eric's coffin, noted with satisfaction that the older one hadn't risen yet, and took off down the hall, pounding an impatient fist on his bedroom door. "Spot, it's me! Open up!"

"Ya ain't hungry, are ya?" He heard the teasing reply come from inside and growled in response threatening to break the door down. "Keep yer britches on, I'm comin'."

The door swung open to reveal a disheveled Spot in the middle of getting dressed. His brown corduroys were unbuttoned and his red suspenders hung from them. He had his grey cap in his mouth as he tried to button up the dark blue shirt hanging open on his chest.

"I hate small spaces," Skittery greeted him, swiping his cigarettes off the table where he'd left them earlier that morning and lighting one up.

"Yeah, I ain't a fan of 'em meself," Spot agreed, successfully buttoning his shirt and pants and snapping his suspenders into place. "I gotta get back ta Brooklyn soon 'nough 'ere so da boys ain't t'inkin' I ditched 'em."

"Ya's just uneasy bein' away from Brooklyn dis long," Skittery grinned at his cousin, tossing him an unlit cigarette.

Spot returned his smile, not bothering to deny the truth of the statement. "Wanna walk back dere widdme?"

"Yeah, okay." Skittery grabbed his boots from the corner, yanking them on his feet and lacing them up, and having all that done before Spot even managed to pull a match from his breast pocket. Spot shook his head in amusement at the satisfied smirk on his cousin's face as they headed for the door.

Skittery was in the midst of locking the door behind them when Eric came strolling down the hall. "Going somewhere, boys?"

"I ain't seein' how dat's any a ya business," Skittery grumbled. He'd never been much of a morning person, and apparently he wasn't a night person either.

"Are you capable of speaking in a manner that is not rude or sarcastic?" Eric asked, exasperated. It was entirely too early in the evening to deal with the attitude of the newborn in Eric's opinion.

Spot answered for Skittery with a curt, "No," as they started to leave the building, intent on ignoring Eric completely.

Before either boy could react, Eric had Spot slammed up against the wall. "Watch your mouth, kid," He hissed angrily, a couple days worth of frustrations coming to a boil.

Spot, being smart enough to know better than to try and fight a vampire, but hot headed enough to give it a go anyway, raised his cane, smacking Eric upside the head. Eric let him go with a roar, quickly grabbing him back and pinning him to the floor.

"Hey! Get off a 'im!" Skittery attempted to help his cousin, but the older vampire knocked him aside without much more than a flick of his wrist. Skittery was back on his feet as soon as he hit the wall behind him, and he tried to pry Eric off of Spot.

"It would do both of you good to remember who's in charge around here," Eric stated calmly, despite their current situation. With one last shove of his fist in the boys throat, Eric let him go, jumping to his feet, and brushing his self off casually. "Now, I will ask again. Where are you going?"

"Oh for Christ sakes, Eric. Give the boy some room. If he wants to leave let him leave," Pam joined the conversation as she sauntered out of her bedroom, fluffing up her hair. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll come back," The last sentence was said with a pointed look at Skittery, who scowled back at her, reaching a hand down and yanking Spot up.

"Let's go," He muttered through clenched teeth. "Bye Mom, bye Dad," He sneered, shoving open the door as Spot snickered behind him.

Spot led the way back to Brooklyn, keeping up a steady stream of conversation and pretending not to notice his cousins resounding silence. As they crossed the bridge, Spot realized Skittery was no longer following him, so he backtracked to where his cousin was leaning over the railing staring into the water. "Long way down," He commented.

"Yeah," Skittery's thoughtful frown slowly turned into a smile Spot knew well. It was the 'I'm about to do something stupid and dangerous' smile.

Before Spot could stop him, Skittery heaved himself over the rail, jumping into the ice cold waves below. "Moron!" Spot shouted after him, once he remembered it wouldn't kill him. Or kill him any more at least.

Before Spot could blink, Skittery was standing right back next to him like nothing had happened. His wet shirt clung to him, as he flashed a grin. "Guess dere's some perks ta bein' dead."

Spot glared at him for a minute, contemplating. "If ya plan on comin' in da lodgin' house ta tell da others hi, ya's better act fuckin' normal," He grumbled, spinning around and stomping off.

"Lighten up," Skittery called after him, before jumping one more time, only to be right next to Spot a second later.

Spot pointed his cane at him threateningly, giving him a fierce look, "I mean it, Skitts. Don't stand dere in dat creepy unmovin', unblinkin', unbreathin' way. Pretend ta be fuckin' human. I's don't wanna be explainin' ta a lodgin' house full a sissies dat me cousin's a fuckin' vampire, got it?"

Skittery, who's mood had lightened considerably since leaving the office, or jail cell as he'd come to think of it, gave a mock salute to Spot. "Sir, yes sir!"

"All right, knock it off smart ass," Spot bit back a grin of his own, as he shoved open the door to the lodging house.

"Hey, Spot ain't dead!" Came the greeting from an older newsie, as he rose from Spot's seat before he got yelled at. "Skittery!" The gangly boy clapped a hand on Skittery's shoulder in greeting. "Finally comin' home?"

"Heya, Hound," Skittery replied, shrugging the hand off his back. "Nah, jus' t'ought I'd stop by an' see all ya ugly faces."

"So where ya been hidin'? Boys over in 'Hattan say dey ain't seen hide nor hair a ya in a few days." Hound's name fit him perfectly. He could sniff out a story a mile away, and he tended not to let things go until he was satisfied he had the whole truth. Fortunately, he wasn't quite as good at sniffing out a lie.

Skittery ignored the question, and had the uncontrollable urge to swat Hound away like a fly, even though they normally got along well. He didn't stop to ponder as to why he suddenly found an issue with Hound though, and he let his eyes roam the common room. He saw a lot of his old, not friends exactly, but acquaintances, taking up residence in different chairs, or on the floor, or just milling about.

There was Beat, sitting at the table playing cards, leaning his chair back on two legs, and banging out a tune on the edge of the table. Trick, sitting next to him, who was about to push Beat's chair over, and Solemn sitting across from them, hollering at them to quit it and play their hands already.

Skittery walked over and lounged in Spots chair, smirking at him and daring him to say anything. Spot kept his mouth shut for once, since originally it had been Skittery's seat when he'd lived there, and led the Brooklyn newsies. He did however, smack his cousin upside the head as he walked by, shooing a younger newsie off the couch so he could sit.

"Move it Laces. An' tie ya damn boots," He nudged Laces off the couch with his cane, and took a seat, propping his cane in between his legs and resting his hands on the top.

"So why didn't ya sell taday, Spot?" Asked Pretty Boy, the second in command, as he sat next to Spot, crossing one leg over the other, and leaning back into the couch, causing the other young newsie, Crane to jump up before he got sat on.

Pretty Boy's nickname derived from the fact that he tended to put more time into his appearance in the mirror each morning than most broads the boys knew. He actually got up almost an hour earlier than everyone else just to get ready, and he used more hair supplies than Racetrack Higgins over in Manhattan. That was saying a lot, too. Most people made the mistake of letting Pretty Boy's nickname and immaculate appearance fool them into thinking he was no one to worry about. But Skittery, Spot, and any other newsie who had come through the Brooklyn lodging house, knew better.

Pretty Boy was biding his time, looking for a way to take leadership away from Spot, just as he'd unsuccessfully attempted many times with Skittery. Pretty Boy was all brawn and no brain, though, unfortunately for him. But Spot still knew to watch his back. You kept your friends close, and your enemies closer, that was Spot's motto.

Skittery sat across the room, glaring at Pretty Boy. He'd never been a fan of the guy, and even though they had acted as friends when he'd been in Brooklyn, they'd certainly gotten into more than their fair share of scuffles. Pretty Boy despised Skittery right back, mainly because he'd never been able to win a fight against him, and had never succeeded in taking over leadership. And to add insult to injury, when Skittery had ditched the Brooklyn boys, he'd left Spot in charge, which irritated him to no end. He was older than Spot, only by a year, but still. In his mind he should have ranked over Spot, and he was convinced the only reason Spot was in charge now was because he and Skittery were family.

Skittery knew perfectly well what Pretty Boy thought about that too. He could have appeased him by telling him the real reason was because Spot was leader material, and Pretty Boy was nothing more than a side kick, but that might have just started another fight instead of appeasing him.

Skittery continued to study Pretty Boy silently, taking in his large frame and perfectly styled hair. He had to almost physically restrain himself from leaping across the room and taking him out. For some reason, tonight, that particular newsie was really irking Skittery. And it didn't help the way he'd treated Crane. Skittery got very irritated whenever anyone treated a younger kid like dirt. If someone wanted to start shit with someone their own age, he could care less, but Crane was only 10, and he was little even for that age. Hence the name, he was always craning his neck, trying to see what was going on.

Skittery was pulled from his thoughts as something ht his leg. He shot a look at Spot who was shoving his slingshot back in his pocket and giving him a meaningful glance. Skittery took the hint, and shifted in his seat, jiggling his leg, trying not to fall into the trance vampire's tended to fall into when they weren't doing anything.

"So do either a you's plan on answerin' us as ta where ya been?" Hound couldn't let things drop.

"Ya ain't me mudder, so I's don't really see how dat's any a you's concern," Spot snapped at him, effectively ending that conversation. Everyone knew better than to push a subject if either one of the cousins said the case was closed.

Spot didn't notice since he was lighting a cigarette, but Skittery who found he could concentrate on a million things at once these days saw the look that passed between Pretty Boy and Hound. Skittery had a decent idea now why he had gotten an uneasy feeling about Hound, and he stood up, making an effort to do so at a human speed.

"Hey Spot, wanna show me ya broken bed in da room so I's can see if I's can fix it?" Skittery drilled his eyes into Spot, willing him to go along with the suggestion.

Spot agreed readily, and Skittery realized for the first time that he could actually compel people. He chuckled to himself as the climbed the stairs, knowing Spot would kill him if he knew he'd been compelled.

Skittery shut the door to Spots room behind them and sat down on the bed, lighting up a cigarette. "Ya might wanna keep an eye on Hound an' Pretty Boy," He advised Spot.

Spot glanced towards the closed door, and joined Skittery on the bed. "Whaddya mean?"

"I mean dey's plannin' soin' tagether, I'd bet me afterlife on it."

Spot ignored Skittery's quip, and stood up, heading for the door.

"Don't go confrontin' 'em now, Spot. Wait 'til ya have solid proof. But if I were you I'd start buildin' up allies wid da other newsies real quick. Most of 'em are scared a ya, but dat don't mean dey's loyal ta ya."

"How are ya so sure 'bout dem? Hound ain't never caused problems before. He's one a da few I genuinely like," Spot suddenly questioned him.

"Jus' trust me, I can tell." Skittery saw Spot break eye contact the second he said trust. "What? Ya don't trust me now?" Skittery was standing too, now, towering over Spot with fire burning in his eyes.

"I didn't say dat. It's jus', well, how do I know dis ain't changed ya? How do I know you's da same person, anymore? Hell ya ain't human no more, cuz." Spot didn't back down, and got right back in Skittery's face.

Skittery stared at Spot, trying to determine if he was serious. Finally he turned, grabbing the leg of Spot's bed, and ripping it off. "Well would ya look at dat. Da bed really is broke." He shoved the leg in Spots hands, shaking with rage. "Dis is me, Spot. Dis is who I am now, an' if ya can't handle dat, dan dat's jus' fine. I don't need you's. I never did." Skittery slammed out of the room, ignoring the calls of the Brooklyn newsies behind him as he stormed out of the lodging house and out into the night.

* * *

"Sonuva bitch!" Spot swore, holding the broken leg to his bed in his hand. He whipped the leg across the room where it hit the wall and fell to the floor with a clatter, sending splinters flying everywhere.

He marched out of his room and back down the stairs, where the other boys were all staring at the door, wondering what had happened in Spot's bedroom. They'd seen Spot and Skittery get into knock down drag out fights physically, but they'd never seen them actually angry with each other.

Everyone was smart enough not to comment though, as Trick, Beat, and Solemn quickly went back to their card game, Laces and Crane acted very interested in their marble game on the ground, Hound jumped up asking if anyone wanted a beer, and Pretty Boy sat on the couch smirking. Everyone else avoided Spot at all costs, as he sank into his seat, shooting daggers with his eyes at anyone who dared to glance at him.

He ripped the beer out of Hound's hands without so much as a thank you, before he swallowed the whole thing in a gulp, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Laces! Crane! Get up ta bed. " He commanded, with no room in his voice for argument. The two jumped up, and scurried up the stairs, and everyone turned to Spot expectantly. The only time Spot ever bothered to send the younger ones to bed was when he had something to discuss with the older ones. "You's too, Fish an' Noise!" He barked at the two in between aged newsies. This caused everyone to really sit up and pay attention. The cards were put away, and those who were across the room made their way over to take up residence in a semi circle near Spot. Spot rarely bothered to send away the ones who were just barely younger than them, so he had everyone's curiosity piqued.

Spot didn't speak right away, he decided to let everyone stew for a few minutes as he ambled into the kitchen to grab another beer. He sat back in his seat, and leaned forward, an ominous look on his face. The power he held in the lodging house was radiating off of him, as he opened up his mouth, ready to set things straight.

"I'm only gonna say dis once, so I 'spect you's all ta listen closely an' take heed. It's come ta my attention dat some of you's," he glared at Hound and Pretty Boy as he said this, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind who he meant. "T'ink ya can overthrow me an' take over dis lodgin' house. I's jus' want ta remind everyone dat me bad side is not somewhere ya wanna be. So whatever plans anyone is cookin' up I suggest ya forget about 'em immediately, or ya walk out dat door an' don't even t'ink about comin' back 'ere."

Spot shoved out of his chair and stalked over so he was standing directly over Hound and Pretty Boy. "Don't ya dare fuck widdme. An don't forget, I not only 'ave pull 'ere in Brooklyn, but I got pull in every other damned borough, an' I can promise both of you's I will make ya lives a livin' hell if ya so much as cough in me direction. Don't make me call in for reinforcements ta keep da two a ya in line," He spat at them, turning on his heel.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and turned back around. "Beat, Solemn, Trick, an' Rum, meet me in me room." He banged up the stairs, glaring at his broken bed and cursing Skittery again.

Pretty Boy and Hound exchanged an uneasy look at having been called out in the open like that, while everyone else scooted away from them, not wanting Spot to think they were in on it. The four boys Spot had told to come to his room stood up, and silently filed up the steps, walking into Spot's room.

Spot looked at the four of them, working out the best way to approach the topic in his head. Beat stood there, nervously tapping out a rhythm on the dresser, Trick was too scared to plan a practical joke for once, Solemn stood with his back straight, examining his dirty fingernails, completely at ease, and Rum pulled a flask from his pocket, taking a long swallow, and holding the flask out to Spot.

Spot gave a grunt of thanks, taking it from him and tipping it back into his mouth.

"All right guys, 'ere's da deal. I'm gonna ask ya a question an' I want an honest answer. Dere ain't no repercussions if ya don't gimme da answer I wanna hear, but deir will be severe consequences if I find out any a ya lied to me." He waited while all the boys nodded an understanding before he continued. "If it comes down ta it, do da four a ya have me back or not? Who's side would ya choose?"

Solemn was the first to speak up, barely having to consider the question. He didn't care much for politics, and he and Spot weren't necessarily friends, but he liked Spot a hell of a lot more than Pretty Boy or Hound. Spot hadn't steered them wrong yet, and he had twice the brains of both the other two put together. "I'm on you's side, without a doubt." He looked Spot directly in the eye as he said this, leaving no doubt in Spot's mind that it was the truth.

"Yours, definitely" Rum put in his two cents easily, as well. He and Spot got along and it was no secret that he and Pretty Boy rarely saw eye to eye.

Spot nodded at them, and turned to the other two. He'd brought these four up because he was pretty sure they were the ones he could count on, and he was hoping he wasn't wrong. "Beat, Trick?"

They exchanged a look, and then both turned back to look at Spot, nodding in agreement. "Yours," they chorused.

"All right den. I'm holdin' all a you's ta dat," Spot reminded them, as they exited his room, taking the hint that the conversation was over.

Spot scooped up the leg to his bed and went over to take a look at, refusing to think about the fact that he might have just broken ties with the only family he liked and the only real friend he had. Instead he made a mental note to send for Jack, Race, and some of the others from Manhattan to make sure they had his back and ran through a list of newsies in the other areas that he could count on.

* * *

Skittery spotted a girl walking towards him as he arrived back in Manhattan, and he drank in the sight of her, suddenly having an unquenchable thirst. He could tell, even from down the street, that he had a good few inches on her. Her raven hair hung past her shoulders, and as he got closer he could see bright green eyes catching the light. Skittery made a quick decision, and put an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

He stopped in front of her, tipping his hat. "'Scuse me, miss. D'ya happen ta have a match on ya?"

She smiled up at him, as he inhaled the scent coming off her and tried to avoid licking his lips. "Sure," She returned his smile, as she struck a match and held it out to him.

Bending down, Skittery cupped the flame, touching the tip of his cigarette to it and thinking that this was going to be entirely too easy. "So what's a pretty lady like you's doin' out on da streets so late by yaself?" Skittery asked, leaning against the wall, and sucking on the cigarette.

She gave him a coy smile, but didn't respond, as Skittery threw the half smoked cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. "Why don'tcha let me walk ya home?"

"Okay," She giggled, taking the arm he held out.

Skittery smirked to himself, waiting for the opportune moment to present itself, which it did a few minutes later, as they arrived at her door.

"My roommates are out, if you'd like to come in," She purred, batting her eyelashes.

Skittery raised an eyebrow suggestively, as he followed her into the building and into her apartment. She wasted no time, leading him back towards her bedroom, and Skittery grinned, knowing he hadn't even had to compel her to get this far.

He turned around, shutting the door to her room, and backed her up against the wall, smashing his lips against hers hungrily. He shoved a knee between her legs, as he let his fingers work on the top buttons of her blouse, quickly stripping it from her.

She hadn't protested yet, though Skittery doubted that would have stopped him, as he picked her up, and all but threw her on the bed. Shrugging his suspenders off, he joined her on the bed, covering her mouth with his once again, as he became more forceful in his efforts when he sensed resistance coming.

She broke the kiss, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. "It's getting late," She hinted.

"It's still early," Skittery growled back, ripping her skirt down, and ridding himself of his clothes. He raised himself on top of her, and stared into her eyes, willing her to say yes.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," She gave in, as Skittery thrust himself into her. He moved inside of her fiercely, laughing at the look of horror on her face. "Quit strugglin', it's useless," He whispered hoarsely, as she came out of the trance he'd put her in.

Letting out a guttural moan, he felt his fangs extending, and bit into her neck as he reached his peak, ignoring her screams, and sucking until the body underneath him was no longer moving.

Skittery pulled out of her, and stood up, throwing his clothes on. "T'anks, dat was fun," he gave a cruel smile towards the lifeless body, and threw open the window, jumping to the street below.

* * *

Eric ignored the feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong with Skittery, muttering that the boy could take care of himself, seeing as he had bigger problems to worry about right now. He let himself in Pam's office, throwing a letter on her desk.

"We have company coming," He said through clenched teeth. They could not have picked a worse time. Eric had one, possibly soon to be two, new vampires running loose, and now he had to deal with a whole damn group of vampires setting up camp in his office. He could have said no, but seeing as how Godric was one of the ones coming, he found himself unable to deny his maker's request.

Pam made a face as she read the letter. "Well at least Godric is coming, that always makes you slightly more bearable."

Eric rolled his eyes at her. "Yes but that insufferable man Bill Compton is coming, too. He puts me in a bad mood. He seems to think he's human." Eric sniffed; distaste settling in his mouth at the thought of Bill.

Pam scanned the list of familiar names as to who all was coming, before she noticed Eric shifting in front of her. "What is with you?"

"Something's wrong with that boy," Eric admitted.

"Then go find him," Pam stated the obvious, studying Eric for his reaction.

Eric didn't answer her, but he did leave the building, following his sense until he came to a halt in front of Skittery, who was sitting on the steps a few buildings down.

He took in the look on his face and braced himself. "What have you done?"

"Noin'," Skittery muttered, refusing to meet his stare.

"Did you leave mess when you did this nothing that I need to clean up," Eric fought to keep the anger out of his voice, not in the mood to fight with the boy right now.

Skittery finally raised his head, and he smirked at Eric. "Yup."

Eric swore, and started to say something, but Skittery stood up, glaring at him and cutting him off.

"Don'tcha dare try to yell at me. You's turned me inta some damned creature a da night, and it didn't come wid no instructions!" Eric could tell that Skittery's heart wasn't in it though, so he didn't bother to yell back.

"Something is bothering you," Eric stated, waiting on an answer.

Skittery continued to glare at him, before he turned his back to Eric, unable to bring himself to say the words. Eric placed his hand on Skittery's shoulder, silently wishing the boy to open up, not realizing his mistake.

Skittery spun around the second Eric touched him, shoving him against the wall. "Don't touch me! Look what ya did ta me da last time ya touched me! I thought me life was terrible before, an' now I know how wrong I was! Dis is hell! I hate it! Me best friend don't wanna be near me, an' dere's a chance I mighta jus' raped someone! Dis isn't me!"

"It's who you are now," Eric responded quietly.

"No! It's who you's made me! I's a fuckin' monster now! I don't want this!" His voice broke on the last sentence, as he sank down, leaning unsteadily against the wall behind him.

"Give me directions so I can clean it up, and then go home, my child," Eric said softly, attempting to placate the boy in front of him who looked drained from the night.

Skittery looked up at Eric, finding his anger gone. He just felt empty at that moment, as he rambled off an address to Eric, and took off for the office, once again disgusted with his self.

**AN – Okay first off, I must thank Thrufirewithoutaburn, who is my most awesome FF friend, and gave me the name ideas for Pretty Boy, Laces, and Crane. Secondly, I must thank DramaLo for her amazing support of this fic, and for making me laugh with every comment on Twitter. **

**I also would like to recommend to my readers a wonderful little story I discovered by Dimensional Traveller called Destiny's Cross. It's wonderful, and any Newsie lovers should take a look at it!**

**I have made a video for this story, also, and if anyone would like to see it, the link is on my page, as well as the link to a ridiculous Newsies slash video I felt compelled to make. My FF blog link is located there as well, as is my Twitter. Feel free to come follow me, you will get plenty of story updates and spoilers, and can help me out when I'm in bind, like Thrufirewithoutaburn and DramaLo are so amazing at doing!**

**Okay, that's all. I think I just followed my longest chapter ever with the longest AN ever, too. Please, please, please, I implore y'all to review! I know you're reading the story, let me know what you think of it! =D**


	10. Face Off

"You's tellin' me ya didn't notice soin' weird goin' on wid dem? Spot didn't come back last night, an' 'ccordin' ta da boys in 'Hattan, Skittery's been missin' for days. Now dey come walktzin' in 'ere like dey own da place, wid no explanation as ta where dey's been," Pretty Boy hissed at Hound, casting a nervous eye toward the stairs, watching for Spot.

"Dat ain't what I said. But Spot's on ta us now, so maybe we should jus' forget da whole t'ing. I don't know 'bout you's, but I ain't tryin' ta make Spot Conlon, or Skittery for dat matter, me enemy. Either a dose two decides dey have an issue wid us, den we's got both a dem, plus all a 'Hattan, an' most a da other boroughs breathin' down our necks. An' if ya t'ink any other borough would let us in ta sell wid dem after dat, dan you's crazier dan I t'ought." Hound muttered back.

"Yeah, well dat won't matter none," Pretty Boy exclaimed, growing exasperated. "We's gonna be da leaders when it's done, an' Spot'll be outta 'ere," He sounded extremely sure of his self, as he gave a cocky grin and lit a cigarette. "Look, all's we gotta do, is figure out what da two a dem is hidin'. Den it'll be easy ta oust 'im."

"How do ya know dat? We's don't know what dey's hidin'! It could be noin'," Hound pointed out, glaring at Pretty Boy. He was beginning to regret his decision to ever help his friend in trying to get rid of Spot. "For all we know-" Pretty Boy elbowed him as Spot descended the stairs, and they quickly scooted to opposite ends of the couch, trying to look innocent.

Spot shot them a look, but decided they weren't worth his time and ignored them as he slammed out the door. He muttered curses to himself the whole way across the bridge. Spot was not pleased with going back to Manhattan, but his conscience was eating away at him once again for the way he'd treated Skittery. And that was his first mistake. Spot tended to make a habit of not thinking too much as he walked, because he liked to keep an eye on his surroundings. His second mistake was running his cane along the rails of the bridge so that he couldn't hear the footsteps of his two fellow newsies as they followed stealthily behind him.

* * *

Skittery walked right by Eric's office building, refusing to go in it. He felt disgusted with himself, and wished he was human again so that he could visit the old opium den and chase away the feeling. He had no idea where he was going, but he kept walking and was surprised when he ended up in front of the Manhattan Lodging House. Skittery figured now was as good a time as any to grab his few belongings, so after a moment's hesitation he slowly turned the doorknob, hoping everyone was preoccupied.

But of course, his luck was never that good. He ignored the open mouthed stares and stuttering from the crew of newsies in the common room, and headed straight for the stairs. He quickly grabbed an armful of his clothes and his walking stick, even though he knew he wouldn't need it. He was set to leave, when Jack came strolling in the room, blocking his path.

"Whaddya want, Cowboy?" Skittery asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Ya been missin' for days, you's walk in 'ere all casual, an' now you's got all ya stuff in ya arms. Ya know what I want."

"An' explanation? Well 'ere's a hint for ya Jackie Boy. I don't owe you's or any a dem an explanation," Skittery felt Jacks hand snake around his wrist as he tried to walk out, and he had to close his eyes and focus on not ripping Jack's arm out of his socket. "Get ya hands off a me, Cowboy. Last warnin'." He said, teeth clenched, jaw grinding, concentrating on not losing it.

Jack gave Skittery a strange look, but slowly released his grip. "What's goin' on wid you's?"

"Don't worry 'bout it. You's ain't gonna be seein' me round 'ere anymore," Skittery stalked out of the bedroom, and for the second time that night he ignored the calls of newsies echoing behind him as he stormed out of a lodging house.

He took his time walking back, lingering around his old selling spots. They didn't look the same at night and it frustrated him. He missed the sunlight. He stopped suddenly, his ear pricking up at the sound of three separate sets of footsteps falling ahead of him. One slightly ahead of the other two sets. He raised his head slightly, taking in the scents in the air.

"Fuckin' fool," He muttered to himself, correctly placing all three scents. Skittery stashed his stuff, and cut through a back alley, coming out just ahead of where Spot was. With lighting speed, he reached out, yanking Spot into the alley with him, before Hound and Pretty Boy rounded the corner. He shoved a hand over Spots mouth to muffle his yelp of surprise, and dragged Spot back towards Eric's office building. Jamming the key in the lock, he opened the door, all but throwing Spot on the lobby floor.

"'Ave ya lost all ya common sense? Pretty Boy an' Hound was half a block behind ya! Why don'tcha jus' go announce ta dem what's goin' on! Christ!" Skittery exploded the second the door was closed and locked behind him.

Spot stood up, matching the look on Skitterys face and hollering right back. "Well sorry dat I don't have inhuman senses, like you's!"

Skittery turned away, letting his shoulder sag, emotionally drained and sick of fighting. "What are ya doin' 'ere?"

"You's brought me 'ere," Spot retorted, obviously not planning on forgiving and forgetting as readily as his older cousin.

Skittery turned around shooting Spot the same warning look he'd given to Jack, but it didn't work as successfully on Spot.

Spot just sneered at him, raising his eye rows, and motioning with his fingers. "C'mon. Let's go."

"I ain't doin' dis wid you's. Not now, not ever, so knock it off."

Spot walked slowly towards Skittery, not pleased with being talked down to by someone he'd always been on equal ground with. Pointing his cane out towards Skitteyr, he shoved it at him to emphasize his point. "What? You's scared bloodsucker? T'ink you's too good ta fight me?"

Skittery swatted the cane out of his abdomen, "Hey recently made inta a vampire 'ere. Wanna not shove wooden sticks in me, maybe?"

Spot got an evil grin on his face, as he contemplated the fact that he had the necessary weapon to kill his cousin.

"Really, Spot?" Skittery asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he noticed the smirk and knew exactly what was going on in Spot's brain. "Fine," Skittery said, deciding to make it easy, as he ripped open the front of his shirt. "Do it. Go on. You's don't see me stoppin' ya." He called his bluff.

Spot, not one to give in easily or admit defeat, fingered the gold tip on his cane, pointing the opposite end directly at Skittery's heart. "I could do it ya know." He said, the smirk never leaving his face.

"So do it," Skittery challenged, unwavering, past the point of caring whether he was the walking dead or completely dead.

They stood there, silent and still, neither moving, each trying to stare the other one down. Skittery finally reached out, plucking the cane from Spot, and wailing it across the lobby, as his fangs extended, and he stepped towards Spot. "An' what makes you's t'ink I won't drain ya?" He threatened.

Pam chose that moment to walk from the back offices, and Eric chose that moment to step through the door off the streets.

"Oh for goodness sake, you two!" Pam exclaimed."Would you please try to act like adults and not children? I despise children," She gave a small shudder to prove her point, as she breezed past Eric and headed out to find dinner.

"Hypocrite!" Eric called after her, since she'd told him it wasn't wise to feed on the streets for a few days. He turned to face the two cousins, who hadn't flinched at the interruption and we're still in a silent showdown. "Break it up!" He commanded, causing them to finally break eye contact with each other, and turn their glares towards him.

"Whatever issues you two are having, I suggest you work it out, I won't have two bickering children running amok here. Especially seeing as we have guests coming to stay soon."

Eric swept out of the room, leaving the two boys alone once again.

"I didn't come out 'ere ta fight," Spot huffed, grabbing his cane off the floor, and looking it over to make sure it wasn't hurt.

"So why'd ya come out 'ere, Spot?" Skittery asked over his shoulder, motioning for him to follow him.

Spot didn't answer right away, and waited until they were in Skittery's room with Skittery sprawled on the bed and Spot sprawled on the couch. "I talked ta da boys. You's was right," He admitted, a tinge of resentment in his voice.

Skittery smirked in reply. He knew Spot hated admitting when he was wrong, and he considered playing the moment up, but then thought better of it. "You's probably gonna be getting' a visit from Cowboy sometime. I stopped by ta get me stuff, an' he ain't pleased that I didn't bow down before him and offer up an explanation." Skittery had never bothered to hide the fact that he wasn't Jack's biggest fan. The two got along well enough, but neither really liked the other one. It was that weird type of mutual respect and trust. But for Spot and Skittery that was really the only relationships they had with any of the other newsies no matter what borough. Neither boy really considered anyone an actual friend other than each other, but there were a few of them they didn't completely hate.

Spot grinned, imagining the look on the other boys face. That kid had an ego to boot, and thought he was God's gift to mankind. It irked him to no end that Spot and Skittery didn't agree, and merely tolerated him. "Real piece a work, ain't he," Spot commented, hoping they could skip the heart to heart.

Skittery nodded, secretly relieved Spot was like him and didn't want to hash things out. That was the typical way they worked through things. Lose tempers, threaten to kill each other, then find something to agree on and everything was back to normal.

"So, I's gotta ask you's a question, an' you's gotta promise ta think about it an' not flip out on me," Skittery ventured, as he stared at the drapes on his window, instead of looking at Spot.

"All right. What?"

Skittery glanced at Spot, then concentrated on the drapes again. "I could turn ya. You's could be like me."

Spot stared at him in shock. "What? A vamp?"

"Well, yeah." Skittery shrugged, lighting up a cigarette.

Spot hemmed and hawed, not answering right away. "Let me t'ink it over, all right?" He finally sighed.

Skittery nodded, glaring at the door as a loud knock sounded from the other side, interrupting their conversation.

Eric walked in, giving Spot a significant look.

"Uhh, I's leavin' now. Come down ta Brooklyn tomorrow night Skitts, an we's can finish dis discussion," Spot dashed out of the room, not wanting to get caught in Eric and Skittery's crossfire. He had enough of his own problems, and didn't want anyone else's.

"What?' Skittery asked when it was down to just him an Eric in the room.

"As I mentioned before, I have company coming soon. Next week, in fact. I'm going to need you to behave while they're here. Can you handle that?"

Skittery did not enjoy being talked down to and he sneered at Eric, turning his head.

Eric walked the rest of the way in, settling himself on the bed. "Listen one of the vampires coming is my maker. I need you to at least put on an act of being nice and considerate."

Skittery turned his head, taking in Eric for a minute. "Why is dis so important ta you's?"

"Because most of us actually care about our maker and wish to please them," Eric stated. The insinuation was not lost on Skittery, but he still ignored it.

When Eric continued to watch him, though, he gave in. "I's can't respect someone I's don't even like. I didn't want dis, an' I still don't, okay? I want me old life back. I want sunshine, and papes, and beer," He shrugged.

"I can't undo what I've done. But would you rather be dead?" Eric asked.

Skittery mulled it over in his head before finally answering in a quiet, honest voice that would have broken Eric's heart, had he had one. "Yes."

Eric rose off the bed painfully slow for himself. "Well, for that I am truly sorry." He left the room, without a backwards look, feeling yet another new, unfamiliar emotion. It was guilt and he instantly hated it with a passion. He'd done terrible, horrible things in his life and he'd never felt guilty before. But yet he gives a measly newsboy a chance at a better life and the most amazing gift of all, and yet he felt guilt.

He couldn't explain why, but he'd just wanted to gather the boy in his arms and make all his problems go away. He'd felt this inexplicable need to make everything better. He'd lived for over a thousand years, and he'd neever felt this way before. Not even with Pam. With a sinking feeling he realized he was coming to look upon Skittery as not only a vampire child to him, but an actual son.

It was close to how he liked to think of his own relationship with Godric. But he did not enjoy being on this end. The worry, the guilt, the compassion, the love, the caring. They were all alien feelings to him, and he couldn't say he necessarily liked them either. But he knew he wouldn't be happy until he made things right, which is why he headed out of the office building, and followed the scent of the newsboy who had just left.

**AN – Okay, first off, I apologize. This was filler, I know, but next chapter will be twice as good to make up up for this. Also, I apologize for the delay in updating. Anyone who is interested, please feel free to check out a new story I started. Only one chapter so far, but should be two by tomorrow or so. It's called "****Flesh and Blood****" and it is the prologue to this. I felt Spot and Skittery's past needed more exploring and explanation to see how they became the ways they are. **

**And of course, my recommendations for y'all. ****Jack**** by Sirenn. ****Patch**** by Grasspaw. ****Flames**** by Echo Quinlan. ****Heroes and Villians**** by SmithsonianGirl. ****The Prize**** by Thrufirewithoutaburn. ****Far From Perfect**** by I Spiked The Ice Cream. Okay, I think that's all for now. Those are all in progress, and updated as often as the authors busy lifestyles allow them to, and they are all amazing and intriguing. So go R&R, please. And feel free to review this if you'd like also.**

**Oh, and for anyone reading Everything Comes With A Price, I made a video for it, finally. Linkage is on the profile. Thanks y'all!**


	11. A Chance in Manhattan

**AN – Okay, I decided something today that I thought I would share with y'all. Hound is the guy who climbs out of the water, wet and leaving NOTHING to the imagination, and says "Going somewhere, Kelly?" Haha, so there ya go. Also, a new character, Chance, will be introduced in this chapter. For those of you who don't know who he is and wonder why I give only a vague description of him, you can learn more about him by reading the prologue to this story, ****Flesh and Blood**_**. **_** You get to know him a little better in that one, so, yeah. I mainly brought him into this one because I think I've fallen in love with my own fictional character, and was itching to write about him. Oh, and I apologize in advance, this chapter is a filler too. I know, I know, I promised it wouldn't be. I'm sorry. If you forgive me, the newsie or vampire of your choice will come over and show you how grateful I am…**

**Also, there's a link on my profile to a petition to get Newsies re-released in theaters for its 20****th**** anniversary in April 2012. (Don't worry, the world won't have ended) So you should all go sign it. And give the link to everyone you know. Yup yup.**

"How da hell did we manage ta lose 'im? He was right in front a us!" Pretty Boy groused, flicking his cigarette butt onto the street, and stomping off.

Hound shook his head at his friend's immaturity, and jogged to catch up to him. "Hey Brooklyn's dat way," He pointed out, trying to figure out where Pretty Boy was headed.

"Yeah, I know dat, I ain't stupid." Hound thought that point could be argued, but decided to let it slide, and Pretty Boy continued. "We's gonna pay a visit ta Cowboy an' his newsies."

Hound stopped in his tracks. "I dunno if dat's such a good idea dere, Pretty Boy. I mean, if word gets back ta Spot dat we's talkin' ta da odder boroughs, specially 'Hattan, it ain't gonna end too well."

"Quit worryin' and follow me lead," Pretty Boy told him, as he raised a fist and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, so Pretty Boy knocked a second time, only to hear someone yell from the other side of the door. "We ain't ya damn servants! Let yaself in!" It sounded suspiciously like Racetrack, and there was no doubt he was talking around a cigar.

Hound raised his eyebrows at that. Spot would never allow someone in the Brooklyn lodging house without first knowing who was on the other side. The Manhattan boys were just a little bit too naïve and trusting, if you asked him. Pretty Boy shrugged back at Hound, and pushed the door open.

Jack, Race, Snoddy, Specs, Bumlets, Swifty and Pie Eater were too involved in the card game to do much else other than grunt at them, Blink and Mush waved and smiled from the couch, Dutchy, Jake, Itey, and Snitch glanced up from their spots on the floor, but didn't bother with an acknowledgment.

"Jack, can we's get atcha a second?" Pretty Boy called over, successfully interrupting the card game.

Jack glanced up and sighed, not exactly sure why either of them were there. He threw his cards on the table, and stood up. "Dis had better be good boys, I was winnin', an' it's getting' late." He crossed the room, motioning to a cluster of chairs and they all sat in them. Race's curiosity got to him, and he skipped the next hand as well, joining them, with Mush and Blink following.

"We's really jus' needed ta talk ta Cowboy," Pretty Boy sneered.

"Dat ain't really you's call now is it? You's ain't in Brooklyn right now, and Spot ain't 'ere ta watch you's back," Jack said smoothly, leaning back in his chair and firing up a cigarette. Blink and Race smirked next to him, and Mush looked slightly uncomfortable, since he wasn't exactly the confrontational type.

Pretty Boy heaved a dramatic sigh so that Jack would understand how much he was putting him out. He cast a glance around the room, asking "Skittery 'ere?"

"No," Jack answered simply, giving no further explanation until he knew what Pretty Boy and Hound were up to.

"Well he an' Spot showed up at da lodgin' house earlier, Spot hadn't come home last night. Dey got in some kinda fight and Skittery stormed out, and den Spot stormed out, an' we's was just worried about dem." Pretty Boy lied through his teeth, pasting an angelic look on his face.

Jack had more smarts than to buy it though, and raised his eyebrows, as Race snorted in laughter at his good boy act. "Since when is da two a you's so carin'?" Race asked around his laughter.

He was met with a cold stare, and Pretty Boy continued. "Look, soin's goin' on wid dem, an' I was wonderin' if any a you's knew anythin'?"

"Skittery ain't exactly da friendliest, most talkative guy around, y'know dat," Jack responded reasonably.

"Yeah, well, we's jus' tryin' ta look out for Brooklyn. Dey can't be up ta anythin' good or dey wouldn't be so mum 'bout it. T'ought we'd warn you's boys ta keep an eye on Skitts."

"Hey, Skittery may not be very pleasant all da time, but he's a good guy. Dat don't sound like 'im," Mush interjected.

"Seriously?" Hound couldn't help grinning. "Listen, you's boys 'ave know Skittery what? Nine, ten months top? We's known 'im longer, and trust me, da two a dem 'ave been inta some pretty dark shit, aight?"

"Well he ain't even," Blink started to say something, only to be elbowed roughly in the side by Race.

"He ain't ever caused us trouble is what Blink's tryin ta say," Jack covered up. "Now listen, I 'ave a feelin' Spot don't know you's 'ere, an' I know dat wouldn't make 'im too happy, so's I suggest you boys be on your way," Jack dismissed them, standing up and leaving with the rest of his guys following.

The two Brooklyn newsies exchanged a sour look, but let themselves out nonetheless. It wouldn't do to start a fight with Manhattan right now.

The door closed behind them, and Mush started to say something, but Jack held up a silencing finger. He waited a few minutes then walked over to the door, opening it up, and making sure the coast was clear. "All right. Dey's gone." He shut it and turned back around.

"Why don't you's want dem ta know Skittery ain't 'ere no more?" Mush asked, utterly confused, but that was nothing new. Mush was everyone's friend, and refused to see bad in anyone, completely blind to the evil in the world.

Race, busy reshuffling cards, explained through the cigar in his mouth. "Cause dey's up ta no good. Pretty Boy ain't ever up ta any good, and he seems ta have swayed Hound somehow."

"Well why is Brooklyn any concern a ours?" Mush asked. Blink, Swifty, Dutchy, Jake and Bumlets all looked at Jack and Race expectantly, growing as confused as Mush.

"Because, boneheads. Spot came t'rough for us when we's went on strike, so's it's only right we's take 'is side." Race rolled his eyes, annoyed at the stupidity in the room.

"Well all a Brooklyn came t'rough, dat includes dose two," Mush nterjected.

Race gave him a disbelieving look. "Yeah, an' on who's orders do ya t'ink dey came t'rough on? Trust me, if it'd been up ta Pretty Boy, we'd all still be hangin' out in front a dat damned statue whinin' about Brooklyn not joinin' in." Race started passing out the cards.

"Not ta mention, does anyone really wanna deal wid Pretty Boy bein' leader a Brooklyn? It'd be da stupid leadin' da blind," Snoddy quipped, examining the cards Race dealt him.

"Listen 'ere's how it's gonna go," Jack took charge. "No one says anythin' ta anyone 'bout Skittery leavin, and no one talk ta anyone from Brooklyn, unless it's Spot, all right? An' if anyone sees Skittery, see if you's can at least get 'im ta stop by 'ere. Race, tomorrow you an' I will go down ta Brooklyn and talk ta Spot."

"Why me?" Race muttered, not wanting to waste time at the Brooklyn lodging house when he could be at the tracks instead.

"'Cause Spot likes you's da best outta all a us, an' ya damn well knows it."

"All right, fine," He grumbled, still not happy about the situation. "Can we's finish our card game now?"

* * *

Spot was about halfway back to Brooklyn, when someone stepped out of the shadows blocking his path. Spot glared up at the vampire, "Can I help you's wid soin'?"

Evil shone out of Eric's eyes, and a nasty grin crossed his face. "Why, yes. I think you may."

Spot backed up slightly from Eric, pointing at him with his cane. "Don't you's dare come near wid me dem fangs!"

"And why not? Don't you want to be like us?" Eric's evil smirk grew wider, as he stalked Spot.

Spot opened his mouth only to be cut off by an outside voice. "Spot Conlon! Is dat you's?" A figure strode across the street, white teeth gleaming in the street light, and bright blue eyes shining.

"Spot smirked back at Eric now, knowing he wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid in front of someone else. "Hey, Chance," He turned towards the tall man as he arrived across the street.

Eric glared at the intruder, and leaned against the brick building behind him crossing his arms over his chest.

The ex-leader of the Brooklyn newsies, and the guy who had taken a young Spot and Skittery under his wing almost ten years ago, reached out shaking Spot's hand, and turning to Eric. "Hi, I'm Chance," his hand went ignored from the tall blonde, but he shrugged it off. Chance had a peculiar way of letting everything just roll off him. It took a lot to get under Chance's skin, and even more to cause him to make enemies with you. But anyone who had ever managed to accomplish making enemies with him soon regretted it. As friendly and happy as he could be, he was also fierce and vengeful against those who crossed him.

"What're you's doin' out 'ere?" Chance turned back to Spot.

"Visitin' Skitts," Spot realized his mistake the second the truth left his lips and cursed himself.

"Skittery? What's he doin' out in 'Hattan?" Chance asked, confused, as he removed his cap and ran a hand through his ink black hair.

"Oh he moved ta dat lodgin' house almost a year ago," Spot explained, still cursing himself. That was going to make it a lot better. Now Chance would stop by the Duane Street Lodging House to visit Skittery and wonder why he wasn't there.

"No shit? Who da hell's leadin' Brooklyn now den?" He asked. His signature grin came back when he saw the look on Spot's face. "Shit, really? Who woulda t'ought dat, huh?" He kidded, quickly backtracking when he saw the scowl adorning Spot's face. "Nah, dat's great, Spot. I can see dat. So's Skitts at da lodgin' house 'ere den?"

Spot shot a look at Eric, who broke in answering for Spot. "No, Skittery left the newsies a few days ago. He lives with me now, and works for my business." Eric was nothing if not the world's greatest liar.

Chance shot Spot a look, but didn't push the issue.

Eric, of course, didn't miss anything, and didn't skip a beat, smoothly adding, "We were headed back there now if you'd like to accompany us and say hello to him."

"Dis late? I t'ought Spot said he'd jus' come from visitin 'im?" Unfortunately for Eric, Chance didn't miss anything either. His senses were so sharp he might as well have been a vampire.

Eric decided to just pretend he hadn't spoken, and started leading the way. Spot shook his head at Chance, a silent warning to let it go.

* * *

Skittery sulked on his bed, refusing to admit to himself that he felt very alone these days. Since he was ten he'd always lived in a house filled with other guys, and wasn't used to not having everyone else around annoying him. He'd always felt alone; even in the midst of dozens of teenage boys, but the quiet was what was getting to him. He felt even more alone once he arrived in Manhattan, but at least before he'd had Spot to relate to when life got to be too much too handle. Now Spot barely wanted to be around him.

He leaned back against the headboard, bored and alone and cursing his existence. It wasn't even natural. His ears pricked at the sound of the front door opening and closing, and he briefly wondered why Eric had brought Spot back, and who the other scent belonged to. Oddly enough, even though he'd just been feeling lonely, he had an urge to pretend to be asleep in the hopes of being left alone. Then he remembered he couldn't fake being asleep, due to what he was, and got angry all over again.

There was a brief knock at his door, which he decided to ignore, and reached over grabbing a book off the table and opening it up to a random page. The knock repeated, louder, longer, and more impatient.

"Skittery! I know you're awake, and I know you can hear me, so would you open the damned door?" Eric called from the other side.

_Well of course he knows I'm awake, Christ. It's da middle a da night an' we's fuckin' vampires, not like I 'spect 'im ta t'ink I's sleepin'._ He thought to himself sarcastically. He took an experimental sniff, out of curiosity, and realized the third person was human. And possibly a human that wasn't aware what he and Eric were at that. Griping to himself, he got up and crossed the room, unlocking the door and swinging it open. "What?" He growled, glaring at Eric.

"Hey Skittery."

His eyes shifted from Eric to a different tall man, and his face broke into a grin. "Chance? Shit, what're you doin' 'ere?"

"Ran inta dis bum on da streets, he's said you's was livin' close by," he answered, surveying the room and letting out a low whistle. "Dis is a step up from da lodgin' houses, huh?"

Skittery smirked, and opened the door all the way allowing Spot and Chance to enter. Eric nodded, and left, not wanting to take part in the family reunion.

Skittery gestured to the couch and got back on the bed, lighting a cigarette, and reminding himself to act human.

Chance sat on the couch, wondering about the look that passed between Spot and Skittery, because it was eerily similar to the one that had passed between Spot and the blond man only a few minutes ago. Alarm bells were ringing in his head so loudly it was almost impossible not to shake the truth out of the two boys. He studied Skittery as they all made strained conversation. He couldn't help but wonder when Skittery's smile had changed, and when his eyes had gone so hard and cold. He remembered Skittery as a guy who didn't smile a lot, but when he did it had been a playful, seductive type that drew people into him, especially those of the female persuasion. Now it was cruel and mocking almost, with no real joy behind it.

His eyes hinted at a suffering that Chance couldn't remember seeing, even when he'd come in as a frightened and cynical ten year old. It'd been a few years since he's seen either of the boys, and he was beginning to regret that, as his mind spewed different worst case scenarios at him.

He interrupted whatever Skittery was in the middle of saying. "What 'ave ya gotten you's self inta 'ere, Skitts?" He asked, as the memories of different things he'd heard flooded his brain. He'd heard rumors Skitter dabbled in drugs, but he'd blown them off. Skittery had always been exceptionally smart, but now he wasn't so sure.

Skittery stared at him, before he gathered himself up with a shake. "What? Noin'. I's jus' work for Eric," He explained, unable to figure out how he knew which lie to go along with, and wondering exactly how deep this connection between a vampire and their maker really ran.

Spot was trying to silently communicate to Skittery that he should just tell Chance the truth, and Skittery gave an insignificant shake of his head. Chance watched them, amused at the silent conversation they were having, and remembered how often they'd done that when he'd been at the lodging house with them.

Chance decided to pretend like he bought Skittery's lie for the time being, and rested back into the couch to catch up with the two boys.

**AN - Warned you I was filler. Sorry. Please remember to click that thing there and review!**

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	12. Cryptic Hints

Chance and Spot made their way back towards Brooklyn slowly, both lost deep in thought. Spot still wasn't sure what to think about Skittery's offer, and he was stressed out with the situation at the lodging house. Actually, the stress from Pretty Boy and Hound, almost made Skittery's offer seem easy to accept, since then the newsies wouldn't be his problem anymore. But, as awkward as some may have found it, he enjoyed the newsies being his problem. It was all he knew, anymore. He'd been there since he was seven, and aside from the occasional (but getting more frequent) trips to Manhattan or another borough, he'd never left Brooklyn. He never planned on leaving it either. Even for immortality. He wasn't sure he wanted to go live in the office building with the vampires. As run down and dingy as the Brooklyn lodging house was, at least it felt like home. There was certain type of warmth there that only existed in a place where family lived. He didn't get that cozy feeling from the office building. As nice and elegant as the offices were, they were also cold and unloving. And Skittery certainly seemed unhappy there. Then again, Skittery had seemed unhappy ever since the things in his past had happened, so that wasn't really anything new.

Chance was still worried about what exactly was going on with Skittery. He had a feeling that it wasn't drugs, and oddly enough that feeling didn't make him feel much better. His eyes had been empty and cold, like the streets they were walking were. His voice had been smooth with an underlying tone of icy venom in every fabricated word. Chance had thought that when he'd caught him trying opium when he was thirteen that things couldn't get much worse than that. He had a hunch that he'd been sadly mistaken. He knew he'd never get the truth out of Spot. The two cousins would die for each other, and certainly weren't above lying to cover each other. Spot would never give away whatever it was Skittery was hiding. If Chance wanted the truth, he'd have to get it either directly from the source, or from the businessman that Skittery claimed he worked for. That didn't mean that Chance couldn't see if he could trick Spot into revealing something helpful, though.

"So why did Skittery leave Brooklyn?" Chance asked, attempting at nonchalance, but failing.

Spot gave him a wry grin, knowing exactly what game he was playing. "Dere was too many memories in Brooklyn for 'im. So's he left, and headed over ta 'Hattan."

"What memories?" Chance asked, motioning towards the bar they were passing, and getting a nod from Spot. The two walked in, taking seats on the barstools, ordering their beers, and lighting up cigarettes, before Spot finally answered Chance's question.

"Jus' soin' dat happened ta 'im a few years back. It ain't really me place ta tell you's. Ask Skitts," Spot shrugged, sipping from the mug in front of him. Spot watched the cigarette between his fingers burn down, and stared listlessly at the ring on the bar left behind from his mug.

"Does it have anythin' ta do wid whatever is goin' on wid him now?" Chance pushed.

Spot shook his head, amused at Chance's persistence. "Chance, I ain't tryin' ta be a jerk, but if you's wanna know what's goin' on wid Skitts, whether it be now or in his past, dan you's gonna hafta ask Skitts."

Chance nodded, a sliver of a smile at his lips. One had to admire the devotion the two boys had to each other. Neither would ever consider betraying the other's trust, and that was hardly something that Chance could bring himself to get mad about it. "Fair enough. So how's life treatin' ya?"

"Ya know how it goes. Ya got ya bad days, an' ya got ya good days," Spot shrugged, draining his beer. "Ready?"

Chance nodded again, finishing his mug also, and they stepped back outside, walking the few blocks to the lodging house making small talk.

"Wanna come in and say hi ta anyone?" Spot asked, as he placed his hand on the doorknob. "Most everyone should still be awake."

"Yeah, why not? Lawrence'll kill me if he knows I was standing outside and didn't bother ta stop in," Chance laughed, referring to the man who had been running the lodging house when Chance had left. He followed Spot into the lodging house, and was assaulted with over ten years worth of memories. This had been the first place he'd called home, the place he'd felt safe and happy as a kid. He hardly recognized the newsies sitting around the common room, but if the faces had been changed it could have been a photograph from when he'd lived here. Boys scattered on the couches, boys scattered around a table playing cards, younger ones on the floor with marbles, and the noisy chatter of a group of boys draining out the rest of the sounds in the room.

Chance glimpsed a few faces he vaguely recognized, though he found it odd to see all these kids who had been thirteen or younger when he left now grown up. He waved to the ones he did know, and immediately snuck back towards the desk where Lawrence was sitting, feet propped up, hat over his eyes, snoozing, like he always had.

Chance couldn't help himself, and he pulled six cents out of his pocket, slamming it on the counter loud enough to startle Lawrence awake. "Hey can I 'ave da book ta sign in?" He gave a shit eating grin, and leaned against the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Lawrence shook his head, noting that the even though it had been five years, Chance had barely changed. He still looked like he was up to no good, still had the same smile always lurking around his mouth, and still walked around like he owned the place. "Well I'll be damned. Guess da real world didn't work out for ya, huh? Back ta be a newsie? Wanna see if you can wrestle dat coveted leadership standing away from Spot?" He grinned, getting up and walking around to envelope Chance in a hug. "How ya been, Chance?"

"Been doing good. I see you's still sleepin' on da job," He joked, following Lawrence through the common room and into the kitchen, accepting the bottle of beer he held out to him.

Chance took in the man across from him, noticing a few small changes. Lawrence had seven years on his own twenty-two, but he looked more in his mid thirties then late twenties. His eyes had deep wrinkles etched around them and his blond hair was unkempt. He still resembled a gang member more than a keeper of a newsboys lodging house, though, and Chance was pretty positive he still cared about all the boys under his roof a little more than the job really required. He still obviously spent most of his afternoons building up muscle too; Chance couldn't help noticing with a smirk. He was pretty lucky he looked too scary to mess with, because if anyone had actually decided to try, they would have found out he was more peace loving, and less prone to fighting.

Spot ambled his way in the kitchen, throwing a cautious look over his shoulder before asking Lawrence, "You's know if Hound an' Pretty Boy left after I did earlier?"

Lawrence nodded, "Yeah, dey left just a few seconds after you's did actually. Why?"

"No reason," Spot replied, grabbing a beer and walking back out to the kitchen, the set of his shoulders giving away the tension in his body, and letting both Lawrence and Chance know that there was actually a reason, he just had no intentions of sharing it.

Chance raised his eyebrows at Lawrence, who shrugged. "Politics," He laughed.

"So when did Skittery leave?" Chance asked, hoping to get more out of Lawrence than he had managed out of Spot.

"A couple years ago. Jus' up an' left. Not much of an explanation, no warning," Lawrence replied, lighting up a cigarette and handing it to Chance before lighting up one for himself.

"So you's don't know why?" Chance asked around the cigarette.

"I'm pretty sure I could guess, as could everyone who was here den could, but he never bothered ta confirm nor deny noin'. You's know Skittery, he ain't never answered ta no one but his self."

"So Why do you's t'ink he left?" Chance asked, trying to keep the frustrating out of his voice. Everyone was being so cryptic, and he just wanted the simple, black and white reason why Skittery would leave his cousin and his newsies behind.

"Ya really can't guess? I t'ought you'd been stayin' in touch wid dem two," Lawrence once again avoided the question expertly.

"Nah, I meant ta, but I ain't really seem 'em or talked ta 'em since I left. I hear t'ings 'bout da two of 'em t'rough word a mouth, 'ere and dere, but I pay most of it no mind, seems like gossip," Chance replied, pondering yet again the time Skittery had come home at age thirteen, out of his mind on opium, and suddenly realizing it might not have been a onetime shot like he'd always hoped.

"Well, ta tell ya da truth, most of it probably ain't. Sorry, Chance. Skittery was doin' okay for a year or so after ya left, but t'ings went downhill pretty fast. I was never able ta actually catch 'im, but I's pretty sure he visited and still does visit dose opium dens. I know Spot does, too, but once again, I can't catch 'em, so I can't do much about it." Lawrence wasn't telling Chance anything he hadn't heard on the streets.

"Okay, Lawrence, are you's gonna be straight wid me 'ere, an' tell me what da hell happened after I left or not?" Chance finally asked, his grin completely wiped off his face, replaced with an uncharacteristic frown.

"Look, you's ain't gonna be happy wid me, but it ain't me story ta tell. You's wanna know what happened, you's ask da source."

Chance sighed, annoyed, but not angry. How could he be? Both Spot and Lawrence were just trying to protect someone they cared about, something Chance was known for doing. "All right, I get it. I'll talk ta Skitts tomorrow," Chance relented.

"Sorry, pal," Lawrence shrugged, clapping him on the back.

"S'okay, you's right," Chance assured him, as he headed back into the common room, figuring he should say hello to the other newsies he knew.

Spot watched Pretty Boy and Hound joke around with Chance, and gritted his teeth in infuriation. He was really beginning to hate those two. He either had to join Skittery in vampirism, or find a way to get rid of those two before he lost control.

"Hey, it's getting' late, I gotta get outta 'ere. But I'll stop by sometime soon, a'ight?" Chance came up next to Spot, extending a hand. Spot shook it, and nodded distractedly.

"Yeah, sounds good," He muttered, his eyes never leaving Pretty Boy and Hound standing a few feet away.

* * *

Skittery relaxed on his bed, wondering how long it would take Eric to come in and fish for information. On cue, there was a resounding knock on the door. Skittery contemplated ignoring it, but he was in somewhat of a decent mood after seeing Chance, so he yelled out that it was open.

Eric walked in, in his typical manner, smooth and gliding, and looking every bit like he was the king of the world. He adjusted his tie, and inclined his head towards Skittery, as he took a seat on the couch. The silence hung in the air, but Skittery refused to be the one to break it, since Eric had come to his door not the other way around. Since he'd been nice enough to let him in without a snide comment, he lit up a cigarette, merely to annoy Eric a little bit.

Eric refused to take the bait, and ignored the gesture, not willing to get into it with the boy again. He rested back into the couch, propping a foot up on his knee, and studied the boy for a minute, allowing the silence to continue to uncomfortable lengths.

"So who was that gentleman? Someone new I need to worry about like your young cousin?" Eric finally asked.

Skittery heard no accusation in his voice, so he gave a simple answer. "Jus' a guy who used ta sell wid us. You's don't need ta worry 'bout 'im, dis is da first time I seen him in almost five years."

Eric nodded, he believed that Skittery believed his own statement, but he had a premonition that that would not be the last they saw of Chance. He didn't bother to voice his opinions out loud, though.

"I need ta ask you's a question. An' I need an honest answer," Skittery suddenly said, lapsing back into his old habit of fidgeting. Eric didn't respond, just waited for him to continue. "Why'd you's turn me? Dat wasn't what you was plannin' on doin' when you shoved me inta dat alleyway, and I know it." Skittery raised his head, and locked eyes with Eric. He didn't look angry, he just look confused and lost and sad.

Eric broke the eye contact, and allowed his head to drop onto the back of the couch, placing his palms on his forehead and tangling his fingers in the air. For quite possibly the first time in his thousands of years, he was at an utter loss for what to say. He sat like that for a few seconds, before straightening back up, and looking back into the boys eyes. "Honestly? I don't know. I'm sorry. I know that isn't the answer you wanted to hear, but I am unsure as to what possessed me to change you. I saw something that reminded me of myself in you, and it seemed a terrible thing to waste. That's the best explanation I can give you."

Skittery chewed at his nail for a minute, before finally shrugging. "All right." He didn't really know what else he was expected to say to that. He was beginning to not completely despise Eric, and being compared to him was not exactly an insult, so he wasn't sure what to do with the information.

"Tomorrow night I have guests coming to stay. Some of them are very important in our world. Please assure me that I am not wrong in trusting that you will behave?" Eric asked, trying to be as nice as he could about it, but really wanting to just lay down the law and promise the kid he'd rip him limb from limb if he wasn't on his best behavior.

"Yeah. I can find somewhere else ta stay while dey's 'ere, if you's like," Skittery offered, preferring that option.

Eric didn't fall for it of course, and these were vampires that eventually Skittery would have to meet anyway. "This is your home, you have a right to be here. I won't ask you to do that."

Skittery shrugged again, wishing Eric wasn't as smart and intuitive as he was, because maybe then he could get away with something.


	13. Vampire Visitors

**AN – Godric is property of HBO. (If I'd gone with Godfrey, it's be Charlaine Harris, but that's why I made it a True Blood crossover, not a Southern Vampire Mysteries crossover) Lorena and Bill are property of Charlaine Harris and HBO, I guess? Anyways, they ain't mine. Claire and Ian however do belong to me.**

** As always, Skittery, Spot, and any other newsie you recognize belong to Disney. And Chance, Lawrence, Pretty Boy, Hound, and the rest you don't recognize belong to me.**

** Sorry for the extreme delay in updates-but you were warned, I believe, so I'm sure you will all get over it. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated if you're enjoying this story at all, and feel free to check out the prequel, Flesh and Blood. Thanks! Enjoy!**

Chance stood at the desk, drumming his fingers on the smooth surface in thinly veiled irritation. "I was 'ere jus' last night. He works 'ere an' lives 'ere along with dat man Eric. Would you's jus' let me in?"

The office boy sighed with his own annoyance, and repeated himself. "No one lives here, sir. It is an office building. People work here, but no one by the name of Skittery. And Mr. Northman is a very important and busy man and has no appointments available to meet with you today. I can squeeze you in next Thursday if you'd like."

Chance slammed his fist on the desk, and stalked out of the building, muttering curses under his breath. He knew he was at the right place, but there was no getting past the office boy. He yanked his pocket watch out and glared at it, the second hand moving mockingly slow. He shoved it angrily in his pocket as he headed in the direction of Brooklyn, determined to get some answers if he had to shake them out of Spot and Lawrence.

He had a feeling Spot would still be selling the evening edition, trying to make a few extra cents, so he wandered Brooklyn until he happened upon Spot. He watched him for a minute, shaking his head in silent laughter, noting that over the years Spots selling technique had remained the same. He still gave people that blue eyed sad look, and had them eating out of his hand in no time. He played up how young he looked to the best of his ability, and the women fell over themselves with pity for him, buying all his papers up in no time.

Spot turned around, and saw Chance, lifting his head up in greeting and smirking. He strutted down the street, adjusting his cap, and tapping the ground with his cane. "Back so soon?" He asked Chance, nodding his head towards the diner, indicating for Chance to follow him in if he wanted to talk.

Chance walked with Spot across the street and into the diner, settling himself into a booth, and waiting on Spot to be done exchanging small talk with his newsies, once again drumming his finger, this time out of impatience. Spot finally slid into the booth across from him, lighting up a cigarette, and lifting his eyebrows at Chance.

"So ta what do I owe da pleasure of seein' ya ugly face two days in a row?" He cut straight to the point, since he knew there had to be a specific reason. He didn't believe for one second that this was just a social call.

"I stopped by Skittery' place a little bit ago. Accordin' ta da office boy, no one named Skittery lives or works dere. Someone's gonna tell me right now exactly what's goin' on." Chance stated in his don't mess with me voice, drilling his eyes into Spot's.

Spot didn't flinch; instead he covered up his temporary moment of panic with another one of his smirks, his eyes scorching with his own fury. He leaned across the table, and flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. The smoke exhaled out of his mouth, drifting towards Chance, as he spoke in a low voice, the previous humor completely wiped out of it. "Is dat a threat?"

"No. It's a promise. I known da two a youse way too long ta not deserve ta know what's goin' on. Cause dat Skittery I saw last night? I ain't seen dat side a 'im in awhile, and I wanna know why it's back." Chance voice held the same undercurrent of warning that Spot's held, as the two glared at each other.

Spot finally shook his head, a nasty grin on his face, as he stood up. "You's ain't seen any side a Skitts in a long time. You's may a known us back when, but it's been five years since you's was around, Chance. So whatever is going on in either a our lives ain't none a ya damn business, so why don't ya jus' get da hell outta Brooklyn, an' leave me an' Skitts alone, all right?" He turned on his heel, not waiting for a reply, and strode out the door.

Once again Chance cursed under his breath. He waited a few minutes before leaving himself, and made his way toward the lodging house, intending to talk to Lawrence, and hoping Spot had headed elsewhere, otherwise it may not be pretty.

He let himself into the lodging house, and found Lawrence at the desk, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper.

"Lawrence," He greeted him, so the man would look up and take note of him standing in front of the desk.

"Chance!" Lawrence exclaimed, surprised to see him back so soon also. He took in the grim look on Chance's face, and he sighed. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was headed. "What's on ya mind, Chance?"

"I tried ta be understandin', but I want some damn answers. Five years ago I left, an' Skittery was doin' okay. He was happy, he wasn't killin' people, an' far as I know, he wasn't smoking dope. Now I come back, an' he's acting weird, distant, an' when I stop by da place dat he lived at last night, suddenly he ain't dere?" Chance was trying to keep his temper under control, but the more he spoke the more he worked himself up, and by the time he finished, he was breathing heavily and almost shaking with rage, as he waited for Lawrence's response.

Lawrence rubbed his temples, and walked out from behind the desk, steering Chance towards his room in the back so they could have some privacy, since the newsies were starting to trickle in. He left the book on the desk, leaving it to the honor system that everyone would pay up when they signed in.

"I don't know anything' about where Skittery is now, Chance. Last I knew he was stayin' at da 'Hattan lodgin' house, selling wid dem," He told him honestly.

"Okay. Well what happened dat caused him ta leave Brooklyn in da first place? You's all keep hintin' 'round 'bout soin', but no one'll jus' spit it out an' tell me what da fuck is goin' on!" Chance threw up his hands in frustration, pacing the floor. He only seemed to ever pace when it involved Skittery. He remembered doing this quite a few times in the first couple years when Skittery and Spot had become newsies. And usually, it hadn't ended well. Usually, his pacing was a sign that deep in his subconscious he knew something was seriously wrong.

Lawrence wrestled with himself silently for a moment. He knew Chance only wanted to know so he could help Skittery out, and he had always had the boy's best interests at heart. But on the other side it really wasn't his place to tell the story. What he needed to do was get Skittery over here and force him to tell Chance what had happened, and maybe in the process figure out what that kid had gotten his self into now. Not that it was really possible to force Skittery to do anything. It never had been, and he doubted that had changed since he'd left.

"Why don't we talk ta Spot an' see if we's can get 'im ta bring Skitts over some night ta sit down an' talk widdya?" Lawrence offered.

The hard look didn't leave Chance's face, and he chewed on his lower lip as he thought. "Fine," He finally muttered. "But if dat kid don't come clean, I'mma shake it outta 'im," He added.

Lawrence nodded, and tried to hide his smile from Chance. "C'mon, let's go see if Spot's back yet."

"Oh, yeah. I's should probably let ya know dat kid ain't too happy wid me right now."

Lawrence gave Chance a look, and rolled his eyes upwards as he shook his head. "I don't even wanna know," he replied, as the two made their way back out and towards the common room.

They found Spot in a heated conversation with Hound and Pretty Boyin the kitchen, but allthree boys quit speaking when they saw them. They continued to glare at each other until Hound and Pretty Boy stomped out of the kitchen, and then Spot's glare switched to Chance.

"Don't you's have a home a you's own? Or a wife? Or soin'? Christ," Spot muttered to Chance, causing Lawrence to laugh, and then attempt to cover it up with a cough.

"Yes," Chance replied stiffly, through clenched teeth, trying to remind himself that Spot had always been a smart ass, and it wouldn't be nice to smack him for it. "Actually I do have me own place, but dere ain't no wife dere ta bother, so I's t'ought I'd come bother you's some more."

Spot wavered for a second, before his face finally went from angry, to amused. "All right," He conceded, deciding it wasn't worth a fight. "Whaddya want?"

"What makes ya t'ink we want soin'?" Chance asked, with an innocent look. Spot crossed his arms, and started tapping his foot, and looked at Chance expectantly. "Okay, yeah. Could you's see if ya could get Skitts ta come talk ta me sometime? Cause no one'll tell me noin', so I'd like ta see if he will."

Spot shrugged, as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth. "I's can ask 'im da next time I see 'im. Gimme you's address, an' I'll tell 'im ta stop by ya place sometime."

Chance knew that was the best he'd get, so he took the paper Lawrence handed him and scrawled it down, handing it over to Spot. "Jus' try ta get 'im ta come, please?" He added, as Lawrence and Spot walked him towards the door.

"I'll do me best," Spot assured him, shoving the piece of paper in his pocket, wondering if he would actually be able to convince his stubborn cousin to do it.

* * *

Skittery reached out to open the door, and felt a hand drop down on his shoulder, successfully stopping him in his tracks. He muttered a curse under his breath and turned around, crossing his arms and arranging his features into a scowl.

"Where are you going?" Eric asked in an frustrated voice, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"I's jus' wanted ta get a breath a fresh air," Skittery tried for an innocent, angelic smile.

"We don't breathe," Eric reminded him. "You wouldn't be trying to sneak out before my visitors arrive, would you?"

"What? Oh, is dat tanight? I's completely forgot 'bout it. Why don't I's jus' run out an' buy dem a nice welcome gift?" Skittery kept the innocent smile plastered to his face, and went for the door again, only to be stopped again.

"Nice try. Go wait in your room, or clean, or do something useful," Eric commanded.

Skittery let out a snort of laughter, "Yeah, I'm really gonna do what you's tell me to."

Eric face hardened even more, and his demeanor became eerily calm. "You know what? Do what you want. I give up. I've been doing everything I can to help you, and make this transition as easy as possible, and all you do is act like an ungrateful little brat." Eric walked out of the room, figuring it was best to leave before he killed the boy.

Skittery watched him leave, knowing he should probably feel guilty, but he was unable to muster up the correct emotions, and instead just shrugged and continued out the door.

Unfortunately, he smacked right into a group of vampires he didn't recognize. He stifled a groan, and was wondering if he still had time to make a break for it before Eric appeared when he heard Eric's voice greeting the vampires, and felt a hand clenching his shoulder, refusing to let him leave. He glared at Eric, but stayed, deciding it was best not to cause a scene, and hoping he could get away sooner if he cooperated.

"Skittery, this is my maker, Godric, and this is Bill, Lorena, Claire, and Ian."

Skittery gave a sharp nod, accompanied with a tight lipped smile, and lit a cigarette, just to see if Eric would complain.

He got a look from Eric, and he muttered a greeting, but refused to put the cigarette out, and glanced wistfully down the street, his face breaking into one of his mocking grins we he saw Spot making heading towards them, since he knew Eric would let him leave to avoid having a human meet the oh-so-important vampire crew.

Eric took his hand off Skittery's shoulder, and told him to go in a voice that proved how unhappy he was with the situation. Skittery threw a wave over his shoulder, and strolled off down the street to meet his cousin.

"Well, that boy looks about as displeased with you as you looked with me for the first couple years," Godric remarked, as they were ushered into the office building, and up to Eric's office.

"He will come around eventually," Eric quickly responded, annoyed that Skittery had embarrassed him in front of the other vampires, and not noticing that Godric seemed to find the situation humorous, not formidable as he himself did.

"How recently did you change him?" Bill asked, as they settled themselves around the spacious office.

"A week or less," Eric replied, waving it off with his hand. When you lived for thousands of years, the days tended to drift together and not be that distinguishable.

If someone had walked in the room at that point, it would have seemed to be a rather odd combination of folks sitting in an office together making small talk. There was Eric, sitting behind his desk, looking like the king, as always. Godric, the oldest in the room, who looked like nothing more than a sixteen year old boy, but who was actually the most dangerous of them all. Bill, a man who had been turned during the civil war, with his long sideburns, and classic good looks, sitting next to his own maker, Lorena. Lorena looked like a sweet southern belle, with her chocolate brown hair tied back modestly, sitting pristinely on the edge of the couch, but everyone who knew her knew that was nothing more than a scapegoat, as all of their looks were.

Ian and Claire sat next to each other, looking the most out of the place. They had both been only thirteen when they were turned, and it was obvious that they were twins. Both had flowing black hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and deeply tanned skin that hinted at their Egyptian background.

Pam came in the room, then, taking a quick survey, and then smirking at Eric with an arched eyebrow when she noticed the absence of the newsboy. "Problems in paradise?" She asked, in a sugary sweet voice, only to laugh lightly at the look Eric gave her.

Godric attempted to hide his smile, since he could see how agitated Eric was, but he also thought it was simply payback. Eric himself hadn't exactly been the easiest newborn vampire to deal with, so it only seemed fitting that he now have a newborn of his own that was problematic.

Bill simply enjoyed seeing Eric having problems, since the two of them had never exactly seen eye to eye on things in the past. Lorena, Ian, and Claire, however, could not have been more bored by the situation.

* * *

Skittery sat on a barstool next to Spot, jiggling his leg, the smell overwhelming his senses, making him want to just jump the person next to him and drink until they were dead. He shook the thought from his head, and listlessly ran a finger around the rim of his glass, which was merely a prop anyway, and attempted to concentrate on what his cousin was saying.

"Listen, Chance is practically on da warpath, tryin' ta figure out what's goin' on wid youse," Spot warned him.

"So, I'll jus' stay a step ahead a him. It ain't his business anyway, ain't like we seen da guy since he left, so what's he so worked up for?" Skittery replied in a bored tone. But in his mind, he was amazed to feel the old familiar anger and hurt welling up at the way Chance had left and never bothered to stop back and see anyone. It wasn't like he'd left New York, so how hard would it have been to just stop in and say hello? He shook this thought from his head also, and struck a match for something to do.

"Come off it, Skitts," Spot muttered, exasperated. "You's met Chance, he's gonna dig an' dig until he finds out what he wants. He's like Hound in dat aspect, an' ya know it. Plus, he's not only after what's goin' on widdya now, he's curious 'bout what happened wid-" Spot was cut off before the name could leave his lips.

"Say deir names an' I'll either soak ya or drain ya, dat's a promise," Skittery growled, his blazing eyes focusing on his cousin and staring him down.

Spot knew when to back off and not push him, so he surrendered, and lit a cigarette with the match burning between Skittery's fingers. Skittery felt the heat drawing close, and shook it out quickly, dropping it in the ash tray, not really in the mood to burn to death right then.

"You's gonna hafta talk ta Chance, make up a story, tell 'im da truth, soin'," Spot pointed out quietly.

Skittery glanced at him, the anger gone from his face, replaced with a look of angst and a deep buried sorrow. He nodded his mind whirling trying to think up a story.

"Listen, he wants ta sit down widdya an' talk. I told 'im I'd give ya dis," Spot shoved the paper with Chance's address across the bar. "What you's do wid it ain't none a me concern. But at least consider stoppin' by some night. An' he said he ain't married, so you's ain't gotta worry 'bout meetin' a wife or kids or noin'," Spot attempted to lighten up the conversation, nudging Skittery's shoulder with his own, finally eliciting a grin from his downtrodden cousin.

Skittery took the paper, and pocketed it, but was careful not to promise anything outright. "I'll t'ink 'bout it," he finally told Spot, just to appease him.

Spot knew that was the best he would get, and the two cousins sat side by side in silence, both lost in their own thoughts, and both avoiding the uncomfortable situations at their homes.

**AN - Sorry, another one. Uh, if Skittery's past seems drawn out, sorry, but I'm trying to hold off on touching on it and explaining it until I get to it in the prequel, so as not to ruin the prequel for anyone. (Except for DramaLo who already knows what happened 'cause she can read my twitter mind.) Ummmm….review? Please and thank you!**


	14. Kicked Out of Brooklyn

**AN : Um, wow, okay. So it's been what? 5 years since I updated….sorry. Anyone remember this story? Haha. It's short, but it's here, nonetheless. I'm gonna work on 15 right now, I swear. You may get it by 2017, too! Feel free to review, sorry for lack of updates, all my stories have taken a backseat to the novel I'm working on, plus I've been working 70 hour weeks for the past couple months.**

Spot was headed back to Brooklyn when he saw two familiar figures coming at him from the opposite direction. He stopped and waited for them to reach him, before nodding his head in greeting.

"Spot, we's was jus' on our way ta youse place ta come see ya," Jack greeted him, as the three newsboys fell into step together.

Race mumbled a hello, and lit his cigar, annoyed that he had to accompany Jack to talk to Spot, since it meant a night missed at the races.

"What about?" Spot sighed, as they walked slowly with no real destination in mind.

"Hound an' Pretty Boy stopped by our lodgin' house las' night ta 'ave a little chat," Race informed him, grinning when he got the expected response from Spot, who stopped in his tracks, and started sputtering angrily.

"Why?" He finally managed to utter out between tightly clenched teeth. His hand was gripping his cane so hard his knuckles were turning white, and the anger was radiating off of him in waves.

Jack refused to make eye contact with Race, for fear that they'd both start to laugh at exactly how mad Spot looked, and cleared his throat.

"Dey was askin' questions 'bout Skittery, and telling us you and him had a fight, claimin' it's cause dey was worried about youse two," Jack replied, his tone of voice letting Spot know that he wasn't stupid enough to fall for their lies.

Racetrack and Jack gauged Spot for his reaction, and for awhile the only sound breaking through the night was the tapping of his cane on the ground. "An' what'd you boys tell 'im?" Spot finally asked, fighting to keep his temper under control.

"Not a whole lot. We didn't let 'em know dat Skittery moved out, an' when deys realized dey wasn't gonna get any information outta us, dey left pretty soon after," Racetrack shrugged, pausing to see if Spot would have a comment. When he didn't Race continued on, "Youse 'avin problems wid dem?"

Spot glared, but it wasn't really directed at Race. "Ya could say dat," he shrugged, signifying the topic was closed for conversation.

"All right," Jack agreed, "Listen, I ain't prying or noin', but Skittery, he okay? He left pretty abruptly, an' everythin'…" He trailed off, waiting.

"Yeah, he's fine. Jus' found soin' else. Listen, I gotta be getting' back ta Brooklyn, looks like I got some business ta handle. You boys 'ave a nice night," Spot turned and left without waiting for a response. He fumed the whole walk back, and by the time he finally reached the Brooklyn lodging house, he was so angry he was ready to tear the two traitors limb from limb.

He banged open the door, barking out an order for Pretty Boy and Hound to meet him outside, and then stomped in the kitchen, grabbing a beer and chugging it down, ignoring everyone else. When the beer didn't calm him down at all, he ripped through the cupboards, finally coming upon the bottle of whiskey they had hidden in the top shelf, away from the younger boys. He took a few long swigs from it, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, before storming back out the door, and confronting his two newsies.

He slammed Pretty Boy up against the wall, pinning him there by his throat, and slugging him in his face. "You t'ink youse two can go behind my back and talk ta boys in 'Hattan? Huh? Ya t'ink I ain't gonna find out? I ain't as dumb as da two of youse obviously are!" He yelled at him, before hitting him again, and throwing him to the ground, and turning to grab Hound.

Spot may have been smaller than the other two boys, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in power. He didn't hesitate, and his fist connected with Hound's face with the sickening sound of crunching bone. He let go of the other boy's shirt, and swiftly kneed him in the stomach, before throwing him to the ground next to Pretty Boy. "Da two a you morons have ten minutes ta gather youse stuff an' get da hell outta my lodgin' house, or else dat'll jus' be a taste a what's ta come. I don't wanna see ya faces in Brooklyn ever again," Spot warned them, heading back in the lodging house, and calmly taking a seat like nothing had happened.

"So, uh, how was your day, Spot?" Trick asked, breaking the silence.

Spot shot him a look, but then gave a smirk and replied, "It jus' got a whole lot better."

The front door creaked opened, and Hound and Pretty Boy came walking in, and made a beeline for the stairs, avoiding Spot's glare.

"Rum, Beat, can I get da two a youse accompany dem until dey out a Brooklyn?" Spot asked.

"Sure," They mumbled, unwilling to piss him off farther by refusing, and scrambled off after the other two.

Skittery let himself back into Eric's office building, and listened for a few seconds to confirm where the group was, before he made for his room, hoping to shut himself in there all night.

He was just settling down on his couch when a quick knock sounded at the door, and it opened to reveal Eric standing there. "May I come in?"

"You own da place," Skittery muttered.

"Listen, I'm not going to force you to come out and be sociable, but I would really appreciate it if you could make the effort," Eric told him, sitting down next to him.

Skittery bit back the sarcastic reply that was hanging off his tongue, and instead just gave a noncommittal shrug.

Eric studied Skittery for a second, taking in the sight of the boy next to him. His face didn't have the typical scowl, now it just held a look that he couldn't quite read. It wasn't quite sadness, but there was a hint of it. Eric cursed himself as he asked, "How are you doing?"

Skittery looked up at him, and for once his voice was void of any hatred. "I don't know," He answered honestly.

Eric was bit taken aback by the lack of harshness in his answer, but he masked his surprise, and kept his features in their normal hardened state. "You're unhappy." It wasn't a question.

Skittery let out a choked laugh, but didn't bother to argue the statement. He shrugged his shoulders, and let his eyes drift away from his Maker's relentless stare.

Eric bit back his impending anger at the boy's unwillingness to share, and left the room without another word, leaving Skittery alone once again, troubled and confused.

Rising from his seat, Skittery began to restlessly pace the large room, thoughts swirling in his head, a jumbled mess, making him unsure of his own feelings. He left his room, intending to walk the streets below, but got a surprise when he pulled open the front door to discover Bryan Denton, fist raised, about to knock.

"Skittery!" He exclaimed surprised.

Skittery's mouth fell open, as he tried to figure out why Bryan was there, and what to say. After a moment of silence, SKittery shut the door in his face, panic rising in his throat, choking him.


	15. A New Plan

"Shit!" Ski ttery exclaimed to himself. He yanked the door back open, but unfortunately Bryan was still standing there with his surprised face.

Skittery stuttered out a lame excuse, and then asked Bryan what he was doing there.

"I set up a follow up interview with Mr. Northman tonight. What exactly are _you_ doing here, Skittery?" Bryan asked. "The rest of the newsies have been looking for you, you know."

"Ise, uh, got me a job 'ere," Skittery mumbled. "I'll, uh, just go find Eric," And for the second time, Skittery closed the door in Bryan's face. He turned to find Pam giving him an odd look.

"Is there a reason you've shut the door in that poor reporter's face twice now?" She asked him.

"Yes," Skittery responded testily, but did not bother to elaborate.

"Well?" She asked, her voice impatient.

Eric joined them, looking quizzically at Skittery. "I did have my desk boy set up the follow up interview for tonight. There was no reason to be so rude to a stranger."

"He's not a stranger," Skittery hissed. "He's the reporter who helped us out during the strike. He knows me!"

"Oh, dear, that is a little bit of a problem, isn't it," Pam stated, trying to look concerned, but actually looking like she was quite enjoying the new turn of events. She always did enjoy drama.

"Fine, I'll figure something out to tell him. If that doesn't work I'll just make him forget he saw you. Now, why don't you go keep the guests company, while I talk to Mr. Denton?"

Skittery decided it wasn't an argument worth having, and decided to just give in. Anyways, entertaining some powerful vampires had to be more fun than dealing with Bryan Denton. He still hesitated in front of the doorway, falling back into his old habit of fidgeting. _Youse being stupid, jus' go in._ He told himself after about ten minutes of standing in front of the door. He grasped the doorknob and walked in before he could talk himself back out of it. Not even bothering with a hello, he sat down behind Eric's desk, wondering how much that would piss him off as five sets of eyes followed his every move.

"You're Skittery?" Godric asked, finally breaking the awkward silence.

Skittery bit back a sarcastic retort and just nodded, glowering at Lorena who sniffed at his name. "Is dere a problem?"

"Yes. First off, why don't you have a proper name? And secondly, who taught you to speak?"

Skittery continued to glower at her a second before standing up and stalking back out of the room.

"Lorena, we're in his home. Try to have some manners," Godric told her sternly.

Lorena opened her mouth to reply, but shut it as Pam and Eric entered the room.

"Where'd Skittery go?" Eric asked, looking around the room.

"Lorena has no idea how to be pleasant," Claire spoke up from her chair, giving Lorena a look that dared her to start.

"Thank you, Lorena. He's already sullen, this should make him much easier to live with," Eric told her sarcastically, as he sat behind his desk, immediately noticing that Skittery must have been sitting there when he'd come in.

Bryan Denton left the office building, with something nagging at the back of his brain. Skittery had obviously not been telling the truth, and Eric had been very vague about he'd met and hired some newsie off the street to help him run an important and wealthy business. And if that was all there was to the story, then why hadn't he just told the rest of the newsies that? He was hiding something, Bryan was certain of it.

Making up his mind, he checked his pocket watch, and saw that it was still early enough in the evening to swing by the Manhattan Lodging House. He gave three sharp knocks to the door when he arrived, and a few seconds later it swung open to reveal Jack, laughing over his shoulder at Blink's antics, with a cigarette dangling between his lips.

"Denton!" He greeted, still grinning. "Ta what do we owe dis pleasure?" He asked, as he ushered him inside.

Bryan removed his hat and coat as he walked through the doorway, and followed Jack into the common room, holding up a hand for silence as everyone chorused out a round of hellos.

"I found Skittery," He finally said, which caused them all to clam up for a second, before the questions began again. He held his hand back up, smiling slightly, until everyone quieted back down. "He's working at an office building downtown, for some big shot, Eric Northman. But something didn't seem right about the situation, or with him. So, I'm going to leave the address with you, Jack, and I'd like you and maybe some of the others to stop by and see him sometime." Denton bent down, scribbling on a piece of paper. "Soon, if possible," He added, holding the address out to Jack.

"Yeah, I guess we could. But whaddya mean soin' ain't right?" Jack asked, taking the piece of paper.

"I can't exactly place my finger on it, but something's off. Not only with him, but with the whole situation. Just swing by, and see if you can't figure it out, or get it out of him, all right? Stop by and see me after you talk to him, or if you need help, okay?" Denton asked, as he made his way to the door.

Jack followed him to the door, reassuring him they'd stop by first chance they got, and shutting it behind him.

"So, who wants ta stop by wid me tomorrow?" He asked, turning back to the room full of newsies.

"I'll go wid ya," Race piped up, as he shuffled the cards, dealing them out to Snoddy, Snitch, and Specs, who also nodded their consent.

"Okay. Tomorrow night, den, after sellin'."

Hound and Pretty Boy roamed the streets of Queens, both silently seething, and also humiliated at being beaten up and thrown out of Brooklyn by Spot.

"I ain't lettin' 'im get away wid dis," Pretty Boy muttered.

"Well, what can we do?" Hound asked. "All da other newsies are afraid of 'im, ain't no one gonna stand up ta 'im. We's gonna hafta find some odder job, and somewhere ta sleep, too. Da two of us don't stand a chance against every newsie in Brooklyn, and all da odder boroughs combined."

"Yeah, but if we take Spot outta da mix, den we ain't got no problems, do we? Most a da boys in Brooklyn would follow anyone, Spot jus' happens ta be da one in charge now. If he ain't around no more, dough, we can take his place." Pretty Boy gave a malicious smirk, and rubbed his hands together.

"Again, how do we do dat? Ain't no one gonna stand up ta 'im," Hound pointed out again, beginning to grow sick of his friend. He should have never listened to him in the first place. He'd never had much of problem with Spot before. He did right by the newsies and was a good leader. Pretty Boy, though, was on a power trip. He didn't like listening to other people, and he was on a mission to finish what he'd started.

"No, see dat's where youse wrong. Ain't no _newsie_ gonna stand up ta Spot. Dey's all to chicken. But I'm sure we can find someone lookin' for a fight, who ain't none concerned wid who it is. 'Specially if dey t'ink Spot's got soin' dey might want."

"Are you tryin' ta say youse wanna hire someone ta kill Spot?" Hound asked, stopping in his tracks, and glaring at Pretty Boy, who nodded affirmatively. "Okay first off, in case ya forgot, we's broke, stupid. And I didn't sign on ta become a murderer, sorry. I don't wanna see 'im die. Dat wasn't da plan."

"Getting' t'rown outta Brooklyn wasn't da plan!" Pretty Boy shouted angrily. "So now dere's a new one."

"Well dis ain't one I'mma be a part of," Hound told him, glaring right back, They stood there for a few tense seconds, having a stare off before Hound finally turned on his heel and stomped off in the opposite direction.

Hound had known Pretty Boy long enough to know he was serious. When he set his mind to something, he followed through with it. If Hound didn't ask fast, there was a good chance Spot woudn't be waking up tomorrow morning to sell. Or any other morning. He knew he couldn't head back to Brooklyn to warn Spot, because even if he did make it into the lodging house and get Spot to listen to him as opposed to beating him, there was no way Spot would believe him. He'd think it was a set up. He figured his only chance of getting a warning to Spot that he might believe was to get to Skittery. And according to the boys in Manhattan, Skittery was still there. Mind made up he headed towards Manhattan.

Pretty Boy watched him walk away, and muttered an obscenity under his breath. Apparently Hound was as chicken as the rest of the pathetic newsies. He may not have any money to pay some thug to take care of Spot for good, but he could spin words with the best of them, and lying was his specialty. All he had to do was get someone to believe they had a personal reason of their own to take care of Spot. With the wheels in his head turning and an evil plan forming, Pretty Boy hurried off, deeper into Queens in search of a specific group of people.

Over in Manhattan, Chance was pacing the living room of his apartment. He was anxious, and wasn't sure why. He just had a bad feeling about this evening. He wasn't exactly a psychic, or used to getting premonitions, but something in his subconscious was telling him to go check on Skittery and Spot. He had no idea how to get a hold of Skittery, since apparently he wasn't welcome there, but he knew exactly where to find Spot.

Skittery exited the building, glancing around to make sure it was Denton Free, before he started aimlessly wandering around the dark, deserted streets. _I am not going back there until those things are gone_, he thought to himself sternly. Like he really needed to listen to some uppity, bitchy vampire tell him that he needed to learn how to talk and get a new name. He'd never taken anything his so called parents had given him, and the name was one of those things. He'd dealt with enough shit lately, and wasn't going to be insulted by some vampires, and he certainly had no intentions of bowing down before them, as if they were better than him.

Although now he was stuck with the intimidating task of finding somewhere he could sleep undisturbed tomorrow. Somewhere dark. _Like an attic._ Yes, he could go find Spot at the lodging house, explain the situation to him, and sleep in the attic while all the newsies were out selling. Lawrence never went in the attic, and none of the newsies really bothered with it either. And between him and Spot, they were both excelled enough at lying and deceiving people to figure out some reason as to why he'd be hanging out at the lodging house tonight.

Skittery set out towards Brooklyn and forced himself to keep a slow, human pace, since it wasn't really that late yet, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself if he passed by any humans. Just far enough in front of him to be unnoticed, Chance was headed the same way, and unbeknownst to both of them, Hound was quickly making his way towards them, hoping he could get to Skittery in time.

Pretty Boy snuck up to an old building, and peered in through a dusty, cracked window. He confirmed that he had the right place, and then checked to make sure the room full of junkies was quiet, with everyone sleeping soundly, enjoying their opium inspired dreams.

Soundlessly, he let himself in through the front door, which luckily didn't creak, and he walked over to the table where they had stupidly left the drugs lying out in the open. He scooped them, up and pocketed them, before letting himself back out the door, only to pound on it a second later, yelling for someone to answer.

A dirty, strung out man wrenched the door open, scratching his head, and glaring at the boy who had awoken them. "What?" He asked, looking ready to kick his ass just for waking him up.

Pretty Boy put on his most innocent, terrified face, and started stuttering. "I-I'm r-really s-sorry, sir, for wakin' y-you up. I, um, I'm a news boy, over in, uh, B-brookl-lyn, and one of the other news boys just came home bragging about h-how h-he had, uh, stolen a bunch of opium from here." In his mind, Pretty Boy congratulated himself for such a well thought out, and so far, executed plan. He had the perfect air of a frightened news boy, just trying to do what was right. Plus, he was positive that Spot and Skittery both had come here to smoke before, so as soon as he dropped a name, he knew this group of guys would know exactly who he was talking about and where to find him. He also knew that this was not a nice group of people, and that killing someone wasn't exactly a foreign idea to any of them, especially over drugs.

His statement had the other three guys in the room up and on their feet in no time.

"Who was it?" The first guy asked.

"I don't wanna get no one in any trouble, I-I got your drugs back for you," Pretty Boy continued to play his part, holding the drugs out, which the man ripped from his hand. "S-so that should be all, right? Ev-ev-everything is okay now, right?"

"No. Everything will be ok when you gimme a name, kid," The man threatened, shoving Pretty Boy up against a wall, and holding a knife to his throat.

"Sp-spot Conlon. It was Spot Conlon."

The man shot a triumphant look over to his friends, who all grinned back. Throwing Pretty Boy to the floor, he hurried out of the house with the others close on his heels.

By the time the group of men were upon the lodging house in Brooklyn, they had worked themselves into a angry frenzy, ready to rip Spot limb from limb for a crime they thought he'd committed.

"Listen, we hafta get him to leave the house, and come out to talk for us. Otherwise, there's too many other people in there and the cops will become involved, which none of want. So you all go wait over in the alley down that way, and I'll get Spot out and bring him over," The one who had answered the door told the rest of his friends, who readily agreed, and went over to wait on their prey.

He waited until they were out of sight, before politely knocking on the door and pasting a fake smile on his face. "Spot!" He trilled cheerily when the door opened.

"James?" Spot asked, sounding surprised to see him. He threw a look back over his shoulder at the rest of the newsies, and stepped outside shutting the door. "Whaddya doin' 'ere? I don't do dat shit no more, ya can't be 'ere, youse gonna get me kicked out by Lawrence," He hissed.

"I'm gonna get you a lot more den kicked outta your cute little lodging house, boy," James said, letting the happy façade drop as he grabbed Spot by the arm and started dragging him towards the alley.

"What da fuck! Let go a me, what da hell is dis about!" Spot tried to fight himself free, but James had about a foot and a hundred pounds on him.

"You really stupid enough to think you can steal from us and get away with it? Maybe you should keep a shorter leash on your boys and they wouldn't go tattle-telling on you," James replied, his blood pumping full of adrenaline as he practically threw Spot into the alleyway where the others were waiting.

Spot tried to explain that he had no idea what he was talking about, as a fleeting image of Hound and Pretty Boy went through his mind. He knew they had to have something to do with this. But the group of men was way beyond listening to reason now, as they jumped on him like a pack of wolves. Throwing punches, kicking him, and overpowering his weak attempts to struggle free.

Spot felt fists raining down on his head, and feet kicking into his stomach, repeatedly knocking the wind out of him. The blood poured down his face, into his eyes, making it impossible to see, and his mind was going fuzzy. Everything sounded really far way, and was beginning to fade into black. He was in danger of passing out, but still fighting unsuccessfully to get free. He was no match for four grown men, and he knew it, but his will to live and his pride kept him fighting as best he could. At least until James got sick of the game, and sick of not being able to get Spot to admit what he did, and he pulled his knife back out. He held it up to Spot's throat.

"You got one more chance to come clean, and we might let you live, Spotty boy," He told him, an evil laugh escaping his lips.

Spot couldn't get the muscles in his mouth to work, and all that came out was a garbled, bloody reply.

"Your choice," James shrugged, and he took the tip of the knife and inserted it deeply into Spot's throat, slowly drawing it across, before letting Spot's limp body fall to the ground.


	16. Spot's Future and Skittery's Past

Chance was almost to the end of the bridge when someone ran smack into him. "Whoa dere, steady," He grabbed the guys shoulders before pulling back and taking notice of who it was. "Hound?"

"Chance! Youse ain't Skittery, but youse'll do jus' fine. I need youse ta go warn Spot dat Pretty Boy's tryin' ta have 'im killed or soin'." Hound said in one long breath.

"Wait, what? Slow down, take a breath. An' explain ta me whas goin' on."

"Spot kicked Pretty Boy an' I outta Brooklyn. Pretty Boy ain't none too happy 'bout dat. He was sayin' soin' 'bout tryin' ta find someone who'd take care a 'im for us, so he's could take o'er in Brooklyn." Hound gasped out, not really slowing down any.

"Okay, calm down. I'm sure Pretty Boy's pissed, but I don't t'ink he-"

"Well Spot ain't got time for youse ta t'ink! Now come on," Hound hollered at him, interrupting Chance and grabbing his arm and yanking him behind him.

Skittery had come up behind them, unbeknownst to either of them, just in time to hear what was going on. Putting his vampire skills to the test, he took off past them, causing them to notice a slight breeze but nothing else, as they themselves ran in the direction of the lodging house.

Skittery beat them there easily, and slowed to a stop in front of the lodging house. Sniffing the air he realized Spot had come out of the house recently. He strained his ears, and heard a commotion at an alley a half block down the road. Racing over, he got there just in time to see their old smoking buddy James holding a badly beaten Spot up against a wall, with a knife at his throat.

He could smell in the air that he was already too late, the odor of impending death hung thick and heavy around him, and the line of blood at Spots throat, combined with the maniacal laugh emitting from James, confirmed his fears. All reason went out of Skittery's head as he grabbed a hold of the guy who'd just signed his cousin's death warrant. Since the day Spot had been born, Skittery had protected him and watched out for him, from their dads, from their moms, from anyone and everyone. And the one time his cousin had actually needed him he'd been too late by a mere second. If only he'd run the whole way here, instead of pretending to be normal and blend in with the humans. Well he was about to prove exactly how un-human he was these days.

Chance and Hound arrived at the scene just in time to see it too. Skittery was already too overcome with rage to notice the two intruders standing, staring slack jawed as he moved at inhuman speed, ripping James up from Spot, and tearing into his neck savagely with his teeth. His screams pierced the silent night air, but Skittery didn't flinch as he threw one lifeless, drained body to the ground, and quickly made his way through the remaining three, before they even had time to blink or run away.

With fresh blood in his system, feeling renewed, and powerful, Skittery turned to Spot, bewildered when he noticed the faint, barely detectable sound of a dying heart beat. There was still hope, still time.

Chance and Hound stood at the edge of the alley, unsure what was going on, afraid to approach either Skittery or Spot for fear of what would happen. Skittery sensed their presence, and glanced up, locking eyes with Chance for a brief second, before turning back to Spot. Chance had seen all he needed to, and he'd still seen the old Skittery reflected deep in his eyes, so he joined him at Spot's side. Hound continued to stay frozen, petrified to the spot where he stood, but no one paid him any attention.

Skittery placed a hand underneath Spots head raising him up slightly, and licking the wound on his neck, allowing the vampire venom running in his saliva to heal the gash instantly. It was too late, though, he'd be dead in a matter of second.

"Spot, it's your choice. Do ya want me ta let ya die or do ya want me ta turn ya," Skittery asked softly, hoping he could respond.

Spot blinked, and then looked into his cousin's eyes, realizing for possibly the first time that he didn't want to die. "Change me," He whispered with the last bit of breath he could summon, as the darkness closed in on him, enveloping him, and his e yes fluttered shut.

Skittery didn't have time to question his cousin, and make sure he was positive about the choice he was making. He heard Spot's heart beat for the final time, and the only sound left in the air was that of Chance's and Hound's breathing. He ripped into his wrist with his teeth, ignoring Chance's surprised gasp next to him, and shoved his wrist into Spot's mouth. He wasn't sure exactly what to do other than that, though. He'd only been a vampire for a week. As Spot began to respond, and start drinking the blood flowing freely from Skittery's wrist into his mouth, Skittery began to panic. He knew he needed to bury Spot after this, but where? And how deep? And for how long? And how much was Spot supposed to drink? This was a bad idea, he had no clue what he was doing. He'd barely begun his panic attack, when he felt a hand drop onto his shoulder.

"That's enough," A foreign voice said, gently. Skittery pulled his arm back, and realized it wasn't a foreign voice; he just wasn't used to hearing that particular voice void of anger and exasperation.

"Take him somewhere he won't be disturbed. Bury him deep in the ground. We'll be there when he awakes in three days. I'll take care of these two," Eric told him, as he reached over and licked the wound on Skittery' wrist closed.

"What? No, youse can't take care of 'em. Well, not Chance at least," He added on second thought.

"Relax, child. I'm not killing anyone. I'm merely going to make them forget what they saw."

"You can't do dat ta Chance!"

"We can't have a human walking around knowing what we are, it's unsafe. He'll turn on us," Eric explained calmly.

"Chance won't," Skittery insisted stubbornly.

Eric sighed heavily, so that Skittery would know just how infuriating he was being. "Fine. But if he can't keep a secret, and needs taken care of, it falls on your shoulders to take care of him. Permanently."

Skittery's mouth was set in a thin line of grim determination, and he gave a brisk nod.

"Now go. Take Spot," Eric commanded, turning his attention to Chance who was still crouched down where Spot had been. "You, wait here for Skittery to return, he can explain everything in detail to you then. And you, come, walk with me," Eric now turned to Hound, who followed after him, unable to stop his legs from moving.

Eric turned Hound to him outside the lodging house. "Go back in there, act like everything is normal. Because it is normal. You saw Spot leaving to go visit Skittery, he said he'd back in a few days. Everything is fine," Eric compelled him, then shoved the boy towards the door and walked away, not realizing that Hound wasn't exactly welcome in the lodging house anymore.

Eric swiftly walked away, returning to Chance, who was still where he'd left him, trying to make sense of exactly what had just happened.

"So youse a…" Chance trailed off hoping Eric would finish the sentence for him since he really wasn't sure what he was.

"Vampire."

"An' Skittery? He's one too?"

"Yes. Any other questions you have you may ask Skittery when he returns. Tell him I'll meet him at home," Eric said, and left, leaving no room for argument.

Skittery finished burying Spot, and had to continuously remind himself that it wasn't permanent. Spot would reawaken soon, and he'd be fine. Hell, he'd be better than fine. He'd be an improved version of himself. At least that was what Skittery tried to trick himself into believing.

He trudged back to where Chance was, taking his time, in no hurry to answer the onslaught of questions he was sure to receive. But he could only push it off for so long before he eventually arrived back to where Chance was.

"So dis is why youse left Brooklyn?" Chance greeted him.

"No. Ise only been a vampire for a week now. Ise left Brooklyn way 'fore dat." Skittery corrected him.

"Why'd youse leave?"

"Why youse t'ink dat's any a ya damn business?"

"'Cause Ise known ya since ya was ten years old, dammit!" Chance finally lost his temper, which caused Skittery to grin. It took a lot to get a rise out of Chance, but he'd always had a special knack for doing it in record time, and he was glad to see he still possessed that particular talent.

Chance relented, and matched Skittery grin, motioning to the sidewalk, where they both sat down. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and handed it to Skittery before lighting one for himself.

"Listen, Skitts. I know Ise never bothered ta stop back an' see ya, an' youse right, maybe it ain't any a me business, but I still wanna know what happened. Youse was doin' good when I left, weren't cha?"

Skittery shrugged, and fiddled with his cigarette before finally looking up and making eye contact with Chance. "I was. I was fine. But youse remember Liz right?" Skittery asked referring to the girl he'd been seeing when Chance had left. Chance nodded, and Skittery hesitantly continued with the story, refusing to look at Chance, and instead keeping his eyes trained on an invisible spot across the street. "Ise got her pregnant. Her dad, he kicked her outta da house. Said she was a disgrace ta da family, dat he's never wanted ta see her again." Skittery stopped speaking, finding it hard to continue as he recalled the girl he'd fallen in love with, and whose life he'd so swiftly ruined with one tiny mistake.

To him, she'd been the most beautiful girl in the world. Dark brown hair, which hung in shiny, perfect waves past her shoulder blades, eyes the color of the coffee he could rarely afford from the diner, a permanent smile on her face, and the same fierce protectiveness for her sister that he held for Spot. She'd brought joy into his life when he'd thought he'd never feel it again.

Chance sat quietly, with his immense patience, waiting for Skittery to continue, which he finally did.

"Ise tried ta do right by her. I married her. Found some dump ta live in, sold all day, every day, an' even found some side jobs ta do in what little free time I had. She had the baby. Everythin' went smoothly. So smoothly. Too smoothly. God, you shoulda seen 'im Chance. He was da most gorgeous little boy ever ta be born. Dark curls, dark eyes, always happy an' easy, never gave us no problems. I don't get me parents, Chance, I don't. I coulda never done anyt'in' ta hurt 'im. Wanna know what we named 'im?" Skittery asked, finally looking up at Chance, who was polite enough to pretend he didn't see the tears of blood leaking out of his eyes and tracing a pattern down his cheeks.

Chance nodded, and silently handed Skittery a handkerchief.

Skittery took it, but just wrung it between his hands, before letting a sad smile cross his face. "Chance. We named 'im after you," He admitted. He plowed on before he lost his nerve, not allowing Chance to say anything. "God, I was so happy. I felt like da luckiest guy on earth. I had a beautiful wife, who loved me as much as I loved 'er, and we had da most precious baby in da world. Lizzie was out wid 'im one day, had 'im at da park. Me stupid past caught up wid me," Skittery said, choking on his words, unable to continue any more.

Skittery leaned forward, shoving his fists into his eyes as he remembered that day, the day that'd changed him forever. Made him refuse to ever believe in anything good again. Because a world in which something like that could happen to an innocent baby and a girl who'd never done any harm to anyone wasn't a world Skittery was interested in living in.

"What happened?" Chance asked gently.

"Me mom. She'd come back ta live 'ere, I guess, an' had been keepin' tabs on me. She and 'er boyfriend. Dey killed 'em jus' ta get ta me. She said I should know what it's like ta lose da person youse love, and youse child. Like she e'er noticed I was gone."

"Skittery-", Chance began, reaching a hand out to comfort him.

"Don't touch me!" Skittery snapped, jumping up, and away from him. "Jus' leave me be Chance. Ya did it once. It can't be dat hard ta do again. I'm poison, don't ya get it? Everyone around me gets killed. So do yaself, an' me a favor an' jus' stay away." With that, Skittery took off.

Chance knew he had no hope of catching up to Skittery, not with his newfound sense of speed, and he helplessly watched the blur until it was just a dot in the distance. Standing up he angrily made his way to the lodging house to confront Lawrence.


	17. Better Off Dead

Skittery stopped after he got into Manhattan, unsure of where to go or what to do. He couldn't deal with being in that office building right now. It wasn't his home, he didn't feel comfortable there, and now he was being bombarded with memories he'd buried long ago, trying his best to forget. That was the only way he knew how to deal with the unbearable pain of losing his family. To pretend they'd never existed. It had barely been two weeks after they'd died when he'd packed up and left Brooklyn. It was still painful for him to be in Brooklyn. Every cobblestone on every street, every tree in every yard, and every booth in the diner held a separate memory. A memory of a time when he was happy, had everything he could have ever wanted. Now those memories were sour, and did nothing but bring him closer to the edge when he thought of them.

Every time he heard a baby laugh, or caught a glimpse of flowing brown hair on the street his chest tightened, his breath shortened, and his heart ached. He may not breathe anymore, but that old, familiar, agonizing ache still took a hold of him, making him want to do nothing but lay down in the street and curl up and die so he could join Lizzie and little Chance once again. Or C.J., as they'd called him. Chance Junior. He'd never had much hope of getting into heaven where they undoubtedly were before, and now he knew he had no chance. He was an abomination now, unnatural, a creature of the night, never meant to exist, and not acknowledged by God. If there even was a God. Which he'd never been so sure he believed anyway. How could there be a God that would allow parents to beat on children before they could speak? How could there be a God that would allow an innocent child to die in retribution of the acts of his father?

Skittery was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice that he was no longer walking alone until he felt two hands on either of his shoulders, forcing him to stop. He looked up into the uncharacteristically caring eyes of his maker.

Eric took the desolation on his child's face for something else entirely as he softly reminded him, "He's not gone. He'll be back in a few day. Better than ever before."

Skittery opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't form the words with his lips, and instead just shook his head. "What are ya doin' 'ere? I said I'd meet ya at da house," He said instead.

"I could feel that you needed me," Eric replied simply.

Skittery faltered, oddly touched by the sentiment that Eric would drop what he was doing, and leave his guests for the second time in one night just to come check on him when he could tell something was wrong. He was reminded of the way Chance used to drop what he was doing whenever he sensed something was wrong with Skittery or Spot.

"Well it ain't Spot I was bot'ered by. I was tellin' Chance 'bout," Skittery stopped again, not sure he wanted to retell the same story twice. But when he looked up into Eric's eyes, for the first time since he'd dug himself out of the grave and realized what he'd become, he felt a true connection to Eric. He almost believed that he was Eric's child, he could almost see what it would have been like to grow up with a father who cared about him and protected him, instead of degraded him and smacked him around. He realized how much he longed for someone like that, even if he wasn't a kid anymore. How much he'd missed out on. And before he knew it, the entire story was spilling out. His childhood with his parents, spending his days and nights attempting to protect Spot, the final straw when they'd left. How Chance had taken them in, and stuck by him when he'd killed his father and his uncle. He told him how hurt he'd been when Chance left, and never bothered to stay in touch, he told him about meeting Lizzie, and falling in love. And he told him about ruining her good name by getting her pregnant out of wedlock, and trying to make up for it by having a shotgun wedding. About the first time he'd held C.J., and felt the tiny hand grasp his pinky finger. How the moment he'd looked into those chocolate brown eyes, he was a goner, just as he had been with C.J.'s mother.

He told him about opening the door one night right after getting home from selling to find his mother there, how she'd informed him in a cold, heartless voice that he'd got what was coming to him. Skittery didn't leave anything out of the tale, and by the time he'd stopped speaking he was amazed to find they'd somehow made it back to their home, and he was sitting in Eric's office.

The whole time he spoke Eric was silent, listening intently to the news boy, for the first time understanding where the hatred and the hardness came from. And for one of the first times in his many years walking the planet, Eric found himself speechless. He wanted nothing more than to comfort his child, to take away the pain. But there was nothing he could do or say to make the pain go away. This was something Eric knew first hand from many, many, many years ago. You never got over the loss of a child. It wasn't right for a parent to bury a child, it never had been. That was one thing that remained the same no matter how much the world around him had changed.

Eric studied Skittery, and sensed that the boy was slightly embarrassed by his outburst. Hoping he was guessing correctly, in not commenting on anything, at least not right away, he stood up and strode over to Skittery. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and quietly let him know the sun would be rising soon.

Skittery nodded gratefully, emotionally exhausted from the nights events, and trudged after Eric toward their coffin room, looking forward to being completely dead for awhile. But at the same time, he admitted to himself that it felt kind of nice to talk about it with someone. Or some ones, actually. As much as it pained him, he liked finally allowing himself to remember Liz and C.J. They deserved to be remembered, to be missed and grieved over, which he'd never allowed himself to do. It wasn't fair to them to shove them out of his mind and never think of them. Silently vowing to himself to think of them and let their memories live on his heart from now on, he climbed into his coffin, shut the lid, and was dead before he had time to completely shut his eyes.

The next couple nights passed by uneventfully, with Skittery too preoccupied worrying about Spot to bother with copping an attitude towards anyone. Eric was quite pleased with this, since it meant there wasn't any tension and arguing between Skittery and his guests. The only problem he had was running into was trying to get Skittery to leave his bedroom and be sociable. He locked himself in it every night so far, and Eric didn't even think he was leaving to feed.

"Skittery, could you open this door, please?" He'd tried demanding, he'd tried being angry, he'd tried to force him, so this time he was going to attempt being nice. Couldn't go any worse than the others, he figured.

Skittery listened to Eric's incessant pounding on the door, and tried to block it out. It wasn't working though. He was very loud and annoying when he wanted to be, it seemed. Finally he was frustrated enough that he stalked over to the door and wrenched it open, glaring.

Eric took in the sight of his child, disheveled hair, paler than normal skin, dark circles under his eyes, and gave him no choice. Gripping his arm, he dragged Skittery out of the door. "Go feed," He commanded.

"No."

"You're being ridiculous. Spot will be fine. You can go tomorrow night when he rises for the first time and see for yourself," Eric reasoned.

"If I go eat will youse leave me da hell alone 'til den?" Skittery asked.

"Yes," Eric responded immediately, quite pleased with himself.

"Den fine," Skittery grumbled, and left, heading towards the door to go outside.

Eric watched him walk away and sighed, as Godric appeared behind him. "Problems?" He asked with a small smile.

"Sometimes that child makes me feel like I made the wrong decision. He acts like he would have been happier to die." Eric's eyes were still trained on the spot where Skittery had been a few seconds ago. Finally he turned, facing his Maker. "He told me a story a couple nights ago, about something that happened to him. And I can't help but wonder if he feels like I robbed him of the chance to ever be reunited with his family."

Godric tilted his head, studying his own child in quiet contemplation before responding. "From what I understand, his parents were not the type one would care to be reunited with."

"No, not his parents. He had a wife and child that were taken from him not so long ago," Eric corrected him. Eric got a faraway look in his eye, as he remembered the night he changed the news boy. Godric was unsure if he was telling him or merely thinking out loud as he continued. "The night I changed him, hell, the reason I changed him I believe, is because of the way he was so easily accepting of his fate. He didn't beg for his life. He didn't try to bargain, or scream, or get away. He actually asked me to kill me. He told me I'd be doing him a favor. At the time, I brushed it aside as someone who was just fed up with life. Now I realize that he honestly meant that I'd be doing him a favor. If I killed him that night, he could be with his wife and child now. Instead, because of what I turned him into, he has no hope of ever ending up where they are." Eric finished quietly, with blood pooling in the bottom of his eyes. He hated seeing his child in pain, and knowing he'd caused it, at least partly, was more than he could bear.

"You didn't know," Godric told him gently, placing a hand on Eric's shoulder. "You can't live with regret. Instead, you must accept it, as must he, and move on. We are immortal, Eric. That's a long time to hold regret, and it's a long time to hold grudges. Both of you will realize this. And whether you see it or not, and whether Skittery will admit it to himself or you or not, I've seen the way that child has begun to look at you these past couple night. It's the way you look at me. When he gazes upon you, his face is awash with emotions of love, admiration, and respect for you. It is the look a son gives a father. And as his father, you must help him to cope and accept his new fate, his new destiny. And you must teach him our ways. It's what I did for you so many centuries ago." With his speech finished, Godric reached up, wiped the blood off of Eric's cheek, and turned to leave him alone with his thoughts.

Skittery finished feeding and licked the puncture wounds on his victim closed, then laid them back in their bed, and hopped out the window to the streets below. He didn't want to admit it to Eric, but it wasn't that he worried about Spot's transformation; it was that he was worried about Spot's reaction. Yes, Spot had asked him to change him. But he was half dead at the time, and possibly not thinking clearly. What if when he rose he was pissed? As angry at Skittery as he had been at Eric at first?

Skittery was coming to terms with what he was, and the possibility that he may never get to join Liz and C.J., but that didn't mean he liked it any better. He still thought he'd be better off dead. As much as he was finding himself wanting to seek out Eric's company he still couldn't look upon his Maker without the old familiar feeling of rage and hate settling deep within his bones. He didn't want Spot to ever look at him like that, he wasn't sure he could handle it. After everything they'd been through together, he wasn't sure he could take losing Spot. It would be the final straw, and he didn't see himself going on. There were only four people in his life he truly didn't think he could live without. And he'd already lost two of them and fell out of touch with a third. He barely remembered a time without Spot by his side, looking out for him, getting into trouble with him, laughing with him, even fighting with him.

Skittery tried to shove his worries aside as he felt his strength beginning to return. He kicked at a rock on the ground and watched it fly through the air, landing on the toe of someone's boot. Then he realized it was Chance's boot. He considered turning and heading home, since there was no possible way Chance would catch up with him, but he decided that would be childish. Plus, Chance had seen him, and was hollering for him to wait up.

"So, uh, how ya doin' Skitts?" Chance asked as they fell into step next to each other. "I was hopin' ta run inta youse. Wanted ta see how youse was doin'? And if Spot was okay?"

"Spot should be fine, but Ise won't know for sure 'til tomorrow night. It takes three day for da transformation ta complete. And me? Well…Ise 'ere, ain't I?" Skittery shrugged, examining the closed up bar they were passing. What he wouldn't give to be able to go into a bar and drink away his problems, or find his old buddies and smoke enough dope to forget about his troubles. He missed being able to get strung out on drugs and booze. It made life a lot easier to handle. Too bad no one had invented anything to make the unlife easier to handle.

"Allright," Chance had known Skittery long enough to know when he didn't want to talk. "Well, listen, after he, uh, whatever it is he'll do, can youse at least stop by an' let me know he's okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Ise still got dat address somewhere. I'll stop by, promise." Skittery replied, making eye contact for the first time, so that Chance would know he wasn't blowing him off.

"T'anks," Chance responded, wavering for a second before finally clapping Skittery on the shoulder. "Well, see ya."

"Bye," Skittery replied, watching him walk away. Sighing heavily to himself, he slowly made his way back home, hoping to get through the night with no incidents, and go to sleep so he could wake up and go check on his cousin.


End file.
